


The Emerald Connection

by TheLastNero



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Altered Prophecy, Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Book 4: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Canon Era, Canon-Typical Violence, Feels, Grey Harry, Horcruxes, M/M, Master of Death Harry Potter, Multi, Not between Tom and Harry, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Rape/Non-con, Redemption, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Smart Harry, Soul Bond, plot heavy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2018-02-21
Packaged: 2018-12-10 20:27:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 18
Words: 114,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11699304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLastNero/pseuds/TheLastNero
Summary: What binds Harry Potter and Lord Voldemort together goes deeper than a simple prophecy. As Harry struggles to learn the true nature of their bond, he eventually discovers the true prophecy that was hidden from him. Whether he chooses to accept it or fight it, he must act or risk losing everything he's already fought for and everything that could have been. Is this connection a gift, possibly enabling him to prevent a war and save those that matter most to him? Or is it a curse, a burden to bear, to weigh him down and enslave his very being?





	1. The Mirror of Erised

**Prelude:** The Prophecy

 

The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies… And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies… Born to the same soul, divided but unconquered, born with the emerald string around soul, eyes, and neck… And he will bestow his greatest power upon the Dark Lord… And Death’s hand will finally slip, for He will unhallow once more...

 

 **Chapter 1:** The Mirror of Erised

 

_“The true mystery of the world is the visible, not the invisible.”_

-Oscar Wilde

 

It was a magnificent mirror, as high as the ceiling, with an ornate gold frame on two clawed feet. There was an inscription carved around the top: Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.

His panic fading now that there was no sound of Filch and Snape, Harry inched closer to the mirror. He stepped in front of it.

He had to clap his hands to his mouth to stop himself from screaming. He whirled around, his heart pounding furiously. Nothing. He was alone. The image he believed to have seen in the mirror was not present behind him when he turned. The crowd behind him in the mirror had vanished or was never there in the first place. The room was empty. Harry took a deep breath, calming his escalated breathing, and turned back to the mirror.

There he saw his reflection, skinny and small as ever, albeit more frightened than usual. His size was dwarfed even further by the group of ten or so people surrounding him. Their faces were blurry and Harry could not distinguish any of their features enough to identify them. He glanced over his shoulder once more-- but still, no one was there. He thought to himself-- perhaps these people are invisible, and the mirror simply allowed him to see them?

Harry turned to look in the mirror again. One of the figures suddenly became clearer, the one closest to his right, and it stepped forward beside him. The man- no, it wasn’t a man. His youthful features betrayed his age, most likely that of a teenager, yet he carried himself as if he had lived lifetimes. Indeed, when he looked down at him in the mirror, Harry felt as if those eyes had seen things that many would have never imagined experiencing in dreams or nightmares alike. In that sense, sort of like Professor Dumbledore’s, Harry thought, but the young man’s eyes lacked that benevolent twinkle omnipresent in the Headmaster’s.

Harry couldn't help but notice how handsome the boy beside him was- his jet black hair, his dark brown almost black eyes that bore deep into his. He felt almost as if he should have been intimidated by this stranger’s sheer presence, but something about him just seemed so familiar. While he and Harry did look alike, he was far too young to be his father. He was puzzled, yet couldn't bring himself to care. His presence was... comforting. Harry found himself inextricably drawn to him.

Still fixated on the mirror, Harry’s hand reached beside him to where the other boy would have been, where he would have felt a clothed shoulder if he had really been there. He felt nothing but air-- the boy existed only in the mirror. The corners of the boy’s mouth curled ever so slightly at Harry’s naivety. When Harry attempted to lean forward for a better view, his nose bumped the mirror, and he stumbled back wide-eyed. He braced his hands against the mirror, trailing them as he sat down cross-legged.

He soon lost track of time sitting there, watching and being watched, with a pleasant ache of longing inside his chest, until a distant noise from the hallway broke him from his trance. He realised the amount of time he must have spent in that room and stumbled to his feet.

As he made to leave, he lingered, feeling a pull back to the mirror. If only he could stay all night. But he had classes in the morning and it was already far later than he normally stayed up. The boy in the mirror seemed to realize Harry had to leave and smiled sadly.

His image distorted the further Harry moved away from the mirror, until he was at the precipice of seeing and not seeing him. Softly, he whispered, “I’ll come back.”

 

* * *

 

When questioned by Ron in the morning, Harry didn’t know what to tell him about what he had discovered. He knew there was nothing overwhelmingly wrong or personal regarding the encounter, but a part of him wanted to keep the entire experience to himself. It felt private. However, Harry felt that it would be unfair to not tell his best friend about what had occurred. If he couldn't tell Ron something, who could he tell?

“You could have woken me up,” said Ron grumpily.

“You can come tonight, I’m going back.”

“Maybe I’d recognize the bloke if I saw him. He might be a ghost,” Ron said eagerly.

Harry was eager himself to find out the true identity of the mysterious boy. “He didn’t really look dead, but maybe.”

“Maybe he’s trapped in the mirror! Shame about not finding Flamel, though. Have some bacon or something, why aren’t you eating anything?”

Harry hadn’t even noticed the food in front of him. He couldn’t stop thinking about the boy in the mirror, why he was there, who he was. Flamel too had slipped his mind and seemed insignificant now. Who actually cared about what Snape was doing with the three-headed dog? Dumbledore could take care of it.

 

* * *

 

“Are you alright?” said Ron. “You look odd.”

Suddenly, Harry was horrified at the prospect of not finding the mirror again. As he and Ron walked at a crawl’s pace through the halls under the invisibility cloak, they tried to retrace Harry’s path from the previous night.

“I’m freezing,” said Ron. “Let’s forget it and go back.”

“No,” Harry hissed. “I know it's here somewhere.”

They continued on. Just as Ron was complaining his feet were going to fall off with cold, Harry spotted the suit of armor next to the abandoned room.

“It’s here-- just here-- yes!”

They pushed the door open and Harry dropped the cloak from their shoulders. He ran to the mirror where the boy from before stood as if he never left. His eyes glinted in amusement at the sight of him.

Harry turned to Ron, “See?”

“I can’t see anything.”

“Look! Look at them all… there are loads of them…”

“I can only see you.”

“Look in it properly, go on, stand where I am.” Harry stepped to the side, and Ron took his place in front of the mirror. From his position, Harry could only see Ron and his reflection inside the mirror.

Ron, though, was staring transfixed at his image. "Look at me!" he said.

Harry leaned over to try to see into the mirror. He grinned and said, "Do you see him?"

"No -- I'm alone -- but I'm different -- I look older -- and I'm Head Boy!"

His heart dropped. "What?" He looked between the mirror and back at Ron, wide-eyed. What exactly was this mirror?

"I am -- I'm wearing the badge like Bill used to -- and I'm holding the house cup and the Quidditch cup -- I'm Quidditch captain, too.” Ron tore his eyes away from this splendid sight to look excitedly at a very confused Harry. "Do you think this mirror shows the future?"

Harry was left mouth gaping, speechless at the thought. The future? His heartbeat sped up. “I-I don’t know. Maybe-- Let me have another look--”

"You had it to yourself all last night, give me a bit more time."

"You're only holding the Quidditch cup, what's interesting about that? I want to see him again.”

"Don't push me --"

A sudden noise outside in the corridor put an end to their discussion. They hadn't realized how loudly they had been talking.

"Quick!"

After a close call with one Mrs. Norris, Harry and Ron returned to the Gryffindor Common Room.

 

* * *

 

The mood the next morning was a bit somber, but Harry couldn’t quite place why.

"Want to play chess, Harry?" said Ron.

"No."

"Why don't we go down and visit Hagrid?"

"No... you go..."

"I know what you're thinking about, Harry, that mirror. Don't go back tonight."

"Why not?"

"I dunno, I've just got a bad feeling about it.”

“That’s not really a reason, you know.”

“Well duh, but still. It was nice while I was looking into it, but once we left, I realized that it wasn't actually real. I know that sounds stupid, but do you really think I’ll ever be Quidditch Captain, let alone Head Boy? I’m not Charlie or Percy.” Ron sounded resentful.

The thought of never meeting the boy he saw made Harry’s chest hurt. It also inspired a desperateness he didn’t know he could ever feel, surprising him. He swallowed a hard lump down his throat.

If he never was able to meet him… at least he had the mirror. No matter what Ron said, he was going to go back. Harry had hope-- he needed it.

 

* * *

 

That third night he found his way more quickly than before. He was walking so fast he knew he was making more noise than was wise, but he didn't meet anyone.

The boy stood in the mirror once again, looking almost bored until Harry approached. His eyes smiled at the sight of him, and Harry’s lips followed suit. Tonight, there would be no interruptions. He could stay here all night if he wanted to. And he wanted to.

"So -- back again, Harry?"

Harry’s heart almost leaped out of his throat at the sound of the Headmaster’s voice.  His head whipped to look behind him. Sitting on one of the desks by the wall was none other than Albus Dumbledore. Harry must have walked straight past him, so desperate to get to the mirror he hadn't noticed him.

" -- I didn't see you, sir."

"Strange how nearsighted being invisible can make you," said Dumbledore, and Harry, while relieved to see that he was smiling, still felt dread curl tight like a snake within his stomach.

"So," said Dumbledore, slipping off the desk to sit on the floor with Harry, "you, like hundreds before you, have discovered the delights of the Mirror of Erised."

"I didn't know it was called that, Sir."

"But I expect you've realized by now what it does?"

“It-- well-- I’m not sure, Professor.”

“You saw your father, did you not? And it showed your friend Ron himself as head boy.”

But it hadn’t been his father-- it couldn’t have been. Despite this, Harry couldn’t bring himself to correct Dumbledore. "How did you know --?"

"I don't need a cloak to become invisible," said Dumbledore gently.

Harry felt himself terrified at such a thought, then caught himself. He had an invisibility cloak, and what did he do with it? Run around and cause mischief in the night?

Dumbledore continued, "Now, can you think what the Mirror of Erised shows us all?"

Harry shook his head.

"Let me explain. The happiest man on earth would be able to use the Mirror of Erised like a normal mirror, that is, he would look into it and see himself exactly as he is. Does that help?"

Harry thought. Then he said slowly, "It shows us what we want… whatever we want?"

"Yes and no," said Dumbledore quietly. "It shows us nothing more or less than the deepest, most desperate desire of our hearts. You, who have never known your family, see them standing around you. Ronald Weasley, who has always been overshadowed by his brothers, sees himself standing

alone, the best of all of them. However, this mirror will give us neither knowledge or truth. Men have wasted away before it, entranced by what they have seen, or been driven mad, not knowing if what it shows is real or even possible.

"The Mirror will be moved to a new home tomorrow, Harry, and I ask you not to go looking for it again. If you ever do run across it, you will now be prepared. It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, remember that. Now, why don't you put that admirable cloak back on and get off to bed?"

Harry stood up, more confused now than ever but determined not to show it. A thought occurred to him.

"Sir -- Professor Dumbledore? Can I ask you something?"

"Obviously, you've just done so," Dumbledore smiled. "You may ask me one more thing, however."

"What do you see when you look in the mirror?"

"I? I see myself holding a pair of thick, woolen socks."

Harry stared. Did Dumbledore know he didn’t tell the whole truth? He didn’t lie, but then again, he didn’t correct Dumbledore. He couldn’t have possibly known… Could he?

"One can never have enough socks," said Dumbledore. "Another Christmas has come and gone and I didn't get a single pair. People will insist on giving me books."

Harry realized very quickly that for the same reasons he failed to speak up, Dumbledore may have lied about what he saw in the Mirror of Erised. Knowing someone’s true heart desire could be a very dangerous thing, after all.

This knowledge, he thought, could be especially dangerous when one could not even understand or recognize their own heart’s desire.

 

* * *

 

The encounter with Dumbledore left Harry conflicted. He supposed he technically got the answer he was looking for in learning the purpose of the mirror, but with one door closed, seven opened. What bothered him the most was knowing that Dumbledore lied. Harry felt petty, as it was such a small lie too. He couldn't argue that lying on principle was wrong, as he had also lied. He could think of multiple reasons Dumbledore might have done such a thing: it was too personal, it was inappropriate for him to hear, or maybe Dumbledore didn't understand it himself. Still, he couldn't get over it as much as he couldn't get over the mirror itself.

He knew there wasn't much point in seeking out the mirror once more, as the castle was far too large to search. Besides this fact, Dumbledore had asked Harry not to go looking for it. Despite the resentment Harry felt, he still trusted Dumbledore. Maybe he should forget the mirror. But the boy inside it... He wouldn't forget him. Harry didn't feel like he could. That face began to appear in his dreams. Night after night, just existing-- nothing else. He never did much but smile that knowing smile. Nevertheless, his presence was enough to bring him comfort. When the dreams began to diminish in their frequency, the comfort Harry normally felt through his days was replaced with longing. However, he accepted there was nothing he could do about it.

"You see, Dumbledore was right, that mirror could drive you mad," said Ron, when Harry told him about these dreams.

Hermione, who came back the day before winter break ended, took a different view of things. She was torn between horror at the idea of Harry being out of bed, roaming the school three nights in a row ("If Filch had caught you!"), intrigue at the idea of the mysterious figure, and disappointment that they hadn't at least found out who Nicolas Flamel was.

Harry was sure he had heard the name Flamel somewhere, but with the beginning of term, he began to have less time free to do research. With both Quidditch practice and homework to attend to, he found his time much too occupied to think of either the boy or Flamel.

 

* * *

 

With the discovery of Flamel’s identity, the philosopher’s stone, and the plot to resurrect Voldemort with it, as well as Hagrid’s mistake, the trio found themselves in a rush to alert Dumbledore.

They came upon McGonagall in the hall, only to find out Dumbledore had left for the Ministry of Magic For reasons unknown, on the night when they knew Snape was going to strike, of all nights.

Harry, Hermione, and Ron had decided to take matters into their own hands and prevent Snape from stealing the stone themselves.

Ironic, Harry thought, that the true thief was the one person they thought could help prove Snape’s guilt.

Professor Quirrell stood behind him now, before the Mirror of Erised once again.

He saw his reflection, pale and scared-looking at first, the tall boy from before nowhere to be found. A moment later, the reflection smiled at him. It put its hand into its pocket and pulled out a blood-red stone. It winked and put the Stone back in its pocket - and as it did so, Harry felt something heavy drop into his real pocket. Somehow - incredibly - he’d gotten the Stone.

“Well?” said Quirrell impatiently. “What do you see?”

Harry screwed up his courage. He had to lie, again.

“I-I see my family-- they’re alive,” He said with a wide-eyed wonder, as if he had never encountered the mirror before.

Quirrell cursed again.

"I should have known. Get out of the way," he said. As Harry moved aside, he felt the Philosopher's Stone against his leg. Dare he make a break for it?

But he hadn't walked five paces before a high voice spoke, though Quirrell wasn't moving his lips. "He lies... He lies..."

"Potter, come back here!" Quirrell shouted. "Tell me the truth! What did you just see?"

The high voice spoke again. "Let me speak to him... face-to-face..."

"Master, you are not strong enough!"

"I have strength enough... for this..."

Petrified, Harry watched as Quirrell reached up and began to unwrap his turban. Then he turned slowly on the spot.

The face on the back of his head was chalk white with glaring red eyes and slits for nostrils, like a snake. "Harry Potter..." it whispered. "See what I have become?" the face said.

Harry found himself rooted to the floor, as if something had grabbed him by the ankles, whilst a primal urge to run engulfed him. He knew this was bad, but… something kept him almost wanting to stay right where he was. It went against all logic running through his head, against all instinct running through his veins, but he felt another part of him, an extension of his very self housed within his body that had always known its place reach out as if trying to touch the person… the thing in front of him. It was terrifying in the worst way.

"Mere shadow and vapor... I have form only when I can share another's body... but there have always been those willing to let me into their hearts and minds... and once I have the Elixir of Life, I will be able to create a body of my own... Now... why don't you give me that Stone in your pocket?"

He knew. He knew that Harry had lied. Harry had a flashback to that winter night in the abandoned classroom with Dumbledore. Did he? No matter. There was no time for thinking now. The feeling suddenly surged back into Harry's legs. He stumbled backwards.

"Don't be a fool," snarled the face. "Better save your own life and join me... or you'll meet the same end as your parents... They died begging me for mercy..."

"LIAR!" Harry shouted suddenly. The word had a particular sting to it that his earlier voice had lacked. He would not die.

"How touching..." the face hissed. "I always value bravery... Yes, boy, your parents were brave... I killed your father first; and he put up a courageous fight... but your mother needn't have died... she was trying to protect you.... Now give me the Stone, unless you want her to have died in vain."

"NEVER!"

It was at that moment Voldemort commanded Quirrell to seize Harry, only he could not. Every time their skin made contact, Harry's scar stung with pain while Quirrell screamed. When Quirrell drew back his wand, Harry launched himself at his professor, hands on both sides of Quirrell's face. They were both screaming now and Harry was blinded by the pain. He could have sworn he heard other voices before he finally passed out.

 

* * *

 

When he woke, Harry was laying in a crinkly patient's bed in the hospital wing. His head felt perpetually fuzzy and he thought he saw a snitch dancing across his vision.

Dumbledore arrived to explain what had happened and answered all of Harry’s questions-- at least, all the questions he could bring himself to ask.

Just as Dumbledore made to leave the room, Harry spoke up for the last time.

"Sir, there are some other things I'd like to know, if you can tell me... things I want to know the truth about..."

"The truth." Dumbledore sighed. "It is a beautiful and terrible thing, and should, therefore, be treated with great caution. However, I shall answer your questions unless I have a very good reason not to, in which case I beg you'll forgive me. I shall not, of course, lie."

Harry almost couldn’t respond to that.

"Well... Voldemort said that he only killed my mother because she tried to stop him from killing me. But why would he want to kill me in the first place?"

Dumbledore sighed very deeply this time.

"Alas, the first thing you ask me, I cannot tell you. Not today. Not now. You will know, one day... put it from your mind for now, Harry.

“When you are older... I know you hate to hear this... when you are ready, you will know."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to both of my lovely betas, Anne @simnovels and @dumblepoop. Check them both out on Tumblr :)
> 
> Feel free to follow me on Tumblr at thelastnero.tumblr.com as well.
> 
> Thoughts? Let me know~ Comments are the best encouragement you can give me.


	2. The Diary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry discovers Tom Riddle's diary.

“Memory... is the diary that we all carry about with us.”  
-Oscar Wilde

 

As soon as Harry saw the small leatherbound book lying in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, it called to him. He felt as if the light in the room had dimmed to focus on the book and nothing else. Ron’s concerns about it being cursed were ignored. Harry ducked around Ron to pick it up. Holding it in his hands, Harry felt a bit disappointed when nothing happened. Another part of him wondered what he expected would happen. His finger traced the gold lettering at the bottom that revealed it was a diary, a fifty year old diary at that.

The first page was marked as being owned by a T.M. Riddle. Harry’s heart thumped against his chest.

Ron, who had been looking over Harry’s shoulder, spoke up. “Hang on. I know that name. … T. M. Riddle got an award for special services to the school fifty years ago.”

“How on earth d’you know that?” said Harry in amazement.

“Because Filch made me polish his shield about fifty times in detention,” said Ron resentfully. “That was the one I burped slugs all over. If you’d wiped slime off a name for an hour you’d remember it, too.”

Harry flipped to the next page, only to find it empty. So was the next, and the next. The pages, while damp from the bathroom, surprisingly hadn't fallen apart from being soaked.

“He never wrote in it,” said Harry disappointed.

“I wonder why someone wanted to flush it away?” said Ron curiously.

Harry turned to the back cover of the book and saw the printed name of a variety shop on Vauxhall Road, London.

“He must’ve been Muggle-born,” said Harry thoughtfully. “To have bought a diary from Vauxhall Road…”

“Well, it’s not much use to you,” said Ron. He dropped his voice. “Fifty points if you can get it through Myrtle’s nose.”

Harry, however, pocketed it. He would figure out what the deal with this diary was. He couldn't place why, but he felt as though it was important somehow and shouldn't be left behind-- as though he should protect it.

Hermione, while much more interested in the diary than Ron, failed to be of much help either. Her suspicion of it being written in invisible ink proved false as well. However, she did bring up the possibility of Riddle being involved with the closing of the Chamber of Secrets, as the timelines did match up.

The trio returned to the trophy room to find Riddle’s plaque once again, only to find it did not include any details on what the award was for. Instead, they found his name on a list of old head boys and a medal for magical merit.

“He sounds like Percy,” said Ron wrinkling his nose in disgust. “Prefect, Head Boy … probably top of every class —”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” said Hermione in a slightly hurt voice.

While Ron and Hermione had given up, Harry still couldn't let the diary go. He took to carrying it around on his person at all times, just in case an idea hit him for how to discover its secrets. Maybe if he found out more about this T.M. Riddle, he might learn its relevance.

Harry tried to think about who might have been at Hogwarts fifty years ago. He estimated they would have to be at least 61 years old by now. Dumbledore was ancient, but Harry didn't know how long he had been headmaster and he would have attended Hogwarts far more than fifty years ago. Snape was Harry’s parents’ age. He had no idea how old Hagrid and Flitwick were. He briefly considered Professor Binns, but considering he had never had a conversation outside History of Magic with him and his...condition, Harry doubted he would be of much help. McGonagall… might be the best option he had, if he had assumed her age correctly. If he hadn't, then he expected to be in for a world of hurt. Even the Dursleys had taught him it was impolite to assume a woman’s age. Harry thought it was equally confusing when it was also impolite to ask a woman her age. Age must just be a sore subject all around, he thought. He would just have to approach the subject delicately.

 

* * *

 

 

”Just ignore him, Harry,” said Ron, just as Transfigurations class drew to a close. “He’s just mad you made him soil his shorts at the dueling club,” he finished with a grin.

Justin Finch-Fletchley glared from where the Hufflepuffs had begun to group up near the doorway.

Ron noticed Harry’s lingering near his bench. “You coming, mate?”

“I need to talk with Professor McGonagall about something. You go on without me.” Ron gave Harry a confused look, but shrugged and left.

When all the students had cleared out of the room, Harry walked to McGonagall’s desk where she had busied herself with grading.

“Professor?”

As if just noticing Harry’s presence, she looked up from her work. “Did you need something, Mr. Potter?”

“I have a question-- but it's not really related to classwork.”

She looked back down and continued her work.“Then I suggest you ask quickly, so as not to miss your next class. But I will answer your question as well as I can, if I can.”

“Thank you, Professor. My question was if you had ever heard the name T. M. Riddle before?”

This question seemed to shock McGonagall. Her quill stilled, and she looked up at Harry with a peculiar face, as if she was trying to look through him. “I-- yes. Where have you heard that name?”

“I saw it on a plaque in the trophy room, but it didn’t say much about him. The date showed about 50 years ago, and-- well, you seemed closest to that time range. But I thought maybe he was involved with the Chamber of Secrets somehow, considering the last time it was opened was also 50 years ago.”

McGonagall grimaced. “You'd be correct. He received that award for apprehending who the headmaster became convinced was the Heir of Slytherin. Personally, I- well, it doesn’t matter now.”

Harry frowned. “Doesn’t it? It might help us find out who opened the Chamber of Secrets this year.”

“Mr. Potter, you must realize… Mr. Riddle was always a very well respected boy. He was a year my junior. Very charming, the perfect student, but he was always very... manipulative. I saw that firsthand during my years as Gryffindor’s prefect and Head Girl. Few other people saw that side of him. He was a member of Slytherin house, but that is beside the point.

“The point is, he would never allow anything to be outside his control and he was very self-righteous. The person branded as the heir of Slytherin was most likely not the real aggressor. However, the Headmaster was desperate, Riddle would never admit he was wrong, and the attacks stopped once the suspect had been apprehended.”

“So you think… Riddle didn’t actually find the heir of Slytherin?”

“Perhaps. Headmaster Dippet had been convinced and the issue was dropped. The real heir may have realized that this was their out and that if they continued, they had a greater chance of being caught. Perhaps they themselves convinced Riddle that that student was the heir.”

“But who was that student?”

“I believe your next class will be starting soon, Mr. Potter,” said McGonagall abruptly, looking at the clock sitting on her desk. “Best not keep Professor Snape waiting. And please-- no more heroics this year.”

Harry paused. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, do not under any circumstances put yourself in any more danger than you need to. I understand Albus has a habit of encouraging you and your friends to partake in… adventures, but these matters should be left to the staff of Hogwarts.

“It is our duty to keep the students safe, and that is tremendously more difficult with children roaming about after curfew and deciding to take matters into their own hands. The faculty have all been made well aware of what happened the first time the Chamber was opened. Please, if you find anything, come to me.”

“Of course, Professor.”

“Now, I will write you a pass so Severus will not have any further reason to antagonize you,” McGonagall said, picking up her previously discarded quill.

“Thanks, and thank you for answering my questions. Uh-- I’ll see you in class tomorrow.”

“And you as well.”

 

* * *

 

 

Come Valentine's Day, Harry still hadn't much luck with the diary. He had grown quite disheartened, but Ron and Hermione prevented him from getting too upset over it. The attacks on the muggleborns had stopped as well, and it looked as though he wouldn't be needing the diary's information anyways if things remained as is.

Harry and his friends had been on their way to Charms when a dwarf came barrelling up the stairs after them. “Oy, you! ’Arry Potter!”

Harry's face burned at the thought of receiving some corny valentine in front of both his classmates and his under-classmates. He ducked his head down and tried to move quickly through the crowd.

He didn't make it far before the dwarf was on him.

“I’ve got a musical message to deliver to ’Arry Potter in person,” he said, twanging his harp in a threatening sort of way.

“Not here,” Harry hissed, trying to escape.

“Stay still!” grunted the dwarf, grabbing hold of Harry’s bag and pulling him back.

“Let me go!” Harry tugged his bag back.

With a loud ripping noise, his bag split in two. His books, wand, parchment, and quill spilled onto the floor and his ink bottle smashed over everything. Harry's instant thought was that the diary would be ruined. He hurried to scoop up his things, causing a traffic jam in the hallway.

“What’s going on here?” came the cold, drawling voice of Draco Malfoy. Oh no.

“What’s all this commotion?” said another familiar voice as Percy Weasley arrived.

With all his belongings stuffed inside his bag, Harry tried to make a break for it. The dwarf grabbed him around the ankle and he crashed to the ground.

“Right,” the dwarf said, sitting on Harry’s ankles. “Here is your singing valentine:

His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad,  
His hair is as dark as a blackboard.  
I wish he was mine, he’s really divine,  
The hero who conquered the Dark Lord.”

Harry vaguely wished that he had died that night to Voldemort, if it meant never having to endure this.

Percy Weasley was trying his best to disperse the crowd that had gathered. “Off you go, off you go, the bell rang five minutes ago, off to class, now,” he said, shooing some of the younger students away. “And you, Malfoy -”

As Harry stood up, he saw Malfoy dive to pick something up off the floor. He realized it was Riddle's diary.

“Give that back,” said Harry, defiant. "Now."

“Wonder what Potter’s written in this?” said Malfoy.

The hall suddenly turned quiet. Ginny was staring from the diary to Harry, looking terrified.

“Hand it over, Malfoy,” said Percy sternly.

Harry didn't hesitate when Malfoy dangled the diary over his head. "Expelliarmus!"

The diary shot out of Malfoy's hands, and Ron caught it mid-air, passing it off to Harry.

“Harry!” said Percy loudly. “No magic in the corridors. I’ll have to report this, you know!”

Mid-lecture in Flitwick's class, Harry quietly pulled the diary out of his bag to examine the damage. Everything else dripped in red ink, but surprisingly the diary was completely clean. He suddenly had an idea, but decided to put it to action later that night.

 

* * *

 

 

After classes and dinner had finished, Harry went to bed early. The Gryffindor Common Room was bustling with activity as always. As he walked across the room, he received a peculiar look from a ghost who had floated in with a book, who he later realized was the Grey Lady. Once in his room, he sat down on his four-poster bed and drew in the curtains far enough to give him privacy, but still let in light from the stove in the center of the room.

He opened his bag and brought out the diary, along with his quill and pot of ink. His hand shaking, he dipped his quill into the scarlet ink and held it over the diary. A small blot stained the diary's page, only to dissipate. Harry checked the page behind it. No ink had seeped through.

Harry immediately dipped his quill back into his ink pot and flipped back to the front page of the diary once more. He wrote in his inelegant scrawl: "My name is Harry Potter."

Harry held his breath. The words sank into the diary before vanishing.

Slowly, the same red ink he had written in before bled through the page, this time in a different form. Words appeared.

"Hello, Harry Potter. My name is Tom Riddle. How did you come by my diary?” The words disappeared just as Harry's had.

He wrote back: “Someone tried to flush it down a toilet.” His heart raced in anticipation of Riddle's reply.

“Lucky that I recorded my memories in some more lasting way than ink. But I always knew that there would be those who would not want this diary read.”

That piqued Harry's interest. “What do you mean?” He wrote, leaving trails of ink between his words.

“I mean that this diary holds memories of terrible things. Things that were covered up. Things that happened at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

"You mean the Chamber of Secrets? It's happening again. I heard you closed it last time, but I couldn't find out who the real Heir of Slytherin was."

Riddle's words flew quickly across the page, slightly less tidy than before. "I do speak of the Chamber of Secrets. When I was a student at Hogwarts, it was all just a legend. They told us it did not truly exist. That was a lie."

Harry's heart hammered.

"During my 5th year, it was opened. The monster attacked several students and one was even killed. I caught the culprit and he was expelled. However, Headmaster Dippet was determined to cover the whole thing up. Some story was created as to how the girl died. I was awarded a trophy for special services to the school and told to keep quiet, while the culprit didn't even make it to Azkaban."

"Azkaban?"

"Wizarding prison."

"But if they knew who he was, why wasn't he locked up?"

"A very influential professor at Hogwarts decided Azkaban would be too harsh on him. I disagreed, of course, but there was nothing I could do. I could have made a ruckus in the papers, but I didn't want to damage Hogwarts' reputation even further."

Harry paused before writing, remembering what McGonagall had told him. If Riddle had really been so manipulative, why wouldn't he have done just what he had said, if he had really wanted the Heir of Slytherin away in Azkaban? "Are you sure the person you accused was really the Heir?"

Riddle's writing came back swift and a bit disjointed. "I am absolutely positive. I was there.

“Why don't I show you what really happened? I can take you inside my memory of the night I apprehended him."

Harry hesitated. This felt like a red flag. He looked back down at the diary, just realizing of what it might have been capable. If it had been charmed or enchanted to hold the memory of a person, what else could it do? Riddle had only offered to show Harry the memory after Harry had accused him of making a mistake.

"Let me show you."

Those words drew Harry in. He wanted to know, but was it worth the risk? A terrible sense of foreboding engulfed him. His eyes flicked about his bed, out the narrow opening of his bed's curtains. With one hand, he drew the curtains completely closed.

He wrote two letters: "OK."

The pages of the diary fluttered as if a wind had broken through the Gryffindor Tower. They flipped until they reached a page marked June at the very top. The calendar square indicating June 13th suddenly transformed into an image that expanded to the size of the entire page, then the entire diary. The image moved as though it were a television, with a dreamy gauze covering it. Harry leaned his face closer to the diary and felt himself pulled in.

 

* * *

 

 

Harry felt as though he was floating for a few seconds, then pummelled down to the floor. His sight blurred until everything gradually came into focus. He stood.

This was Dumbledore’s office, he thought upon first glance. The second glance revealed that no, several things were different. And sitting behind that desk where Dumbledore should have been was someone else-- a balding man who looked quite frail.

“I’m sorry-- I didn't mean to intrude, Harry said shakily.

The wizard didn't even look up. Harry was confused. This was supposed to be a memory?

Harry waited. He looked about the room. The moving portraits on the walls remained as they were when Dumbledore was Headmaster. Fawkes and his perch were absent. There was a lot less color in the decorations. This man had to be the Headmaster during Riddles time. He must not hear Harry because Harry isn’t actually there.

There was a knock at the door.

“Enter,” said the old wizard in a feeble voice.

A tall boy about sixteen entered. He wore Slytherin robes with a silver prefect badge. Harry stared. He had jet-black hair with eyes almost as dark and held himself with poise as he walked over to the headmaster.

It was him.

Harry had remembered the encounter with the Mirror of Erised, but had stopped thinking of it once the previous school year had ended. But Harry could never forget that face-- the face beside him, the smile so mesmerizing that it made Harry want to spend forever in front of the mirror just contemplating the who’s, what's and why's of the boy in the mirror for the rest of his life.

Now that face was right in front of him. He knew who it was, his name, his age, his house, even a little of his personality. Harry felt as though some deity had reached down and handed him a book describing life's mysteries.

Knowing this person, this Riddle, was the boy in the mirror, new questions plagued Harry as well. Why was he in the mirror? His heart’s desire… someone he had never met? A boy? Harry looked at him in utter awe, mouth agape.

Harry thought back to what Ron had seen in the mirror and what he had said. Did the mirror have the ability to see the future? To know a desire before one knows it themself? And why would he desire a person he had never met more than, say, his parents alive and happy beside him?

Harry watched the boy greedily, hoping to catch any sort of information he could.

“Ah, Riddle,” said the headmaster.

“You wanted to see me, Professor Dippet?” said Riddle in a voice silken smooth but lilting with nervousness. He clenched his hands tightly behind his back.

“Sit down,” said Dippet. “I’ve just been reading the letter you sent me.”

“Oh,” said Riddle. He sat down, bringing his hands into his lap.

“My dear boy,” said Dippet kindly, “I cannot possibly let you stay at school over the summer. Surely you want to go home for the holidays?”

“No,” said Riddle at once. “I’d much rather stay at Hogwarts than go back to that — to that —”

“You live in a Muggle orphanage during the holidays, I believe?”

“Yes, sir,” said Riddle, reddening slightly.

He lived with muggles too? Harry, shocked, instantly felt a kinship with him, recalling how the year before, he had felt the exact same way.

“You are Muggle-born?”

“Half-blood, sir,” said Riddle. “Muggle father, witch mother.”

“And are both your parents — ?”

“My mother died just after I was born, sir. They told me at the orphanage she lived just long enough to name me — Tom after my father, Marvolo after my grandfather.” An orphan, too… And his name was Tom, Harry realized. That was the first time he had ever heard his real first name. Harry rolled the name around on his tongue, but didn’t speak.

Dippet clucked his tongue sympathetically.

“The thing is, Tom,” he sighed, “special arrangements might have been made for you, but in the current circumstances...”

“You mean all these attacks, sir?” Tom said quickly.

“Precisely,” said the headmaster. “My dear boy, you must see how foolish it would be of me to allow you to remain at the castle when term ends. Particularly in light of the recent tragedy . . . the death of that poor little girl. . . . You will be safer by far at your orphanage. As a matter of fact, the Ministry of Magic is even now talking about closing the school. We are no nearer locating the —er — source of all this unpleasantness. . . .”

Tom’s eyes had widened.

“Sir — if the person was caught — if it all stopped —”

“What do you mean?” said Dippet with a squeak in his voice, sitting up in his chair. “Riddle, do you mean you know something about these attacks?”

“No, sir.” But he had known, Harry thought. Why didn’t he just tell Dippet there?

Dippet sat back in his chair. “You may go, Tom. . . .”

Tom slid off his chair and slouched out of the room. Harry followed.

Tom had stopped once he had exited the Headmaster’s office, biting his lip. His brow furrowed as if deep in thought. He must have made a decision, for he continued walking until they had reached the entrance hall. Before Tom could continue, a voice called from the top of the stairs.

“What are you doing, wandering around this late, Tom?” Harry looked to find a younger Dumbledore at the stairway.

“I had to see the headmaster, sir,” said Tom.

“Well, hurry off to bed,” said Dumbledore, giving Tom a penetrating look that Harry had been on the other end of multiple times. “Best not to roam the corridors these days. Not since ...” He sighed. “Good night.”

Tom waited for Dumbledore to leave the room completely before moving on. He led Harry to where Snape’s potions class was normally held down in the dungeons. It was much eerier that time of night, Harry found, with the torches snuffed out and only the sound of Tom’s footsteps echoing in the halls.

Inside the classroom, Tom waited. Minutes passed, one by one. On and on. Harry tapped his foot and took the time to look at Tom once more. His eyes were dead-set on the door left slightly open. He had the ability to keep his entire body still, stiff as a statue.

With the absence of all other sounds, his breathing seemed much louder than before. Harry found himself breathing in time with Tom as they waited for whatever Tom expected to find.

It came in the form of footsteps. Tom instantly slid through the small crevice between the door and the wall, to which Harry followed.

They stopped five minutes later. In the shadows of the night, Harry made out a large figure leaning over a door, creaking it open slowly.

“C’mon ... gotta get yeh outta here ... C’mon now ... in the box ...” There was something familiar about that voice.

Tom jumped out from around the corner of the hall. “Evening, Rubeus.”

The boy slammed the door shut and stood up. “What yer doin’ down here, Tom?”

“It’s all over,” he said. “I’m going to have to turn you in, Rubeus. They’re talking about closing Hogwarts if the attacks don’t stop.”

“What d’yeh —”

“I don’t think you meant to kill anyone. But monsters don’t make good pets. I suppose you just let it out for exercise and —”

“It never killed no one!” It was Hagrid. Harry finally recognized that voice. It was Hagrid. Hagrid...opened the Chamber of Secrets? That was how he had been expelled?

No, he decided. Tom was wrong.

“Come on, Rubeus,” said Riddle, moving yet closer. “The dead girl’s parents will be here tomorrow. The least Hogwarts can do is make sure that the thing that killed their daughter is slaughtered...”

“It wasn’t him!” roared the boy, his voice echoing in the dark passage. “He wouldn’! He never!”

The same Hagrid who thought raising a dragon egg on school grounds was a good idea. He hated to admit it, but maybe?

“Stand aside,” said Tom, drawing out his wand. He blew open the door Hagrid had shut, revealing a tangle of long, thin, hairy appendages. It sped down the hall and Hagrid knocked Tom down when he raised his wand at the creature.

The scene around Harry whirled and blurred once more, until he found himself back in his bed with the diary draped across his chest. He was drenched in sweat.

The dormitory door opened and shut with a click, and Ron entered. “Harry, you in here?”

“Yeah.” Harry sat up and drew his curtains back.

Ron shifted his feet awkwardly. “Erm,” He paused after getting a look at Harry’s disheveled state. “You look like you need some... sleep. I’ll just… leave you be.” He bolted out the door.

Harry flopped back onto his bed, clutching the diary to his reddened face. He supposed he would just tell Ron and Hermione what he found tomorrow.

Questions still remained, however, Harry though thought bringing the diary back to his lap. He reached for his quill and ink pot still sitting on his bedside table.

His hand shook as he brought it to the diary once more.

 

* * *

 

 

He wrote, “Tom Riddle.”

The next answer came slowly. “Harry Potter,” was written first in that elegant script. “I trust you now have the information you need, yes?”

“Yes, but I wanted to ask something else-- have we ever met before?” Harry’s heart clenched in anticipation.

“I can’t say that I myself have ever met you before. However, you must realize, I am only a memory. My own body lived long after I created this diary. I have no way of knowing what my older self has gotten up to.”

Harry’s heart dropped. “So your real self might not even be alive?”

Tom’s words bled quickly through the page. “I wouldn’t let myself die that easily.” A pause. “But perhaps, depending on the year.”

“It’s 1993 now. Today was Valentine’s Day.”

“Hmm. Well, Happy Valentine's Day to you then. Get any valentines yourself?”

Harry flushed, despite there being no one there to see it. “One, but it was more trouble than it was worth. Oh-- it did cause me to figure out how the diary worked, in a weird way.”

“How so?”

“Our idiot Defense professor had dwarves deliver valentines, and mine literally tackled me. My bag fell and the ink pot inside it broke and soaked everything in my bag besides the diary.”

“So that is what that was. I take it you didn’t enjoy the valentine itself?”

Now that felt like a peculiar question. “I don't know. I mean, I’m guessing it came from my best friend’s younger sister, and she’s just a first year.”

“And how old are you now?”

Harry blinked. “Twelve. Thirteen in July.” Somehow this went from him asking all the questions to Tom doing the questioning. “But if we can go back to my earlier question-- Are you absolutely sure?”

“I am absolutely sure I would still be alive, yes.”

Harry furrowed his brow. Was Tom… evading the question?

“Not that one. I meant the one about us having ever met before.”

“Harry, you would not have been born before I made this diary. And, as I have no way of knowing what my elder self did, I have no memory of meeting you.”

Harry let out a huff and clenched his quill. He felt like he was missing something, somewhere. Maybe it’d be easier if he just explained what he had experienced in the past.

Before he could write, Tom’s words had appeared instead. “Why are you so insistent that we have met?”

“When you took me inside your memory, I recognized you. I’ve seen you before, without a doubt. It was last year.”

The period of his last sentence thickened with how much pressure Harry put on it, contemplating how to proceed. He decided to write without any reservation or fear of embarrassment. While this did feel like a personal topic, he didn’t have much to lose. His words disappeared as he wrote. No one else would know. Harry still didn’t know why this topic made him feel the way he did. It was just a mirror.

But it wasn’t. If it was just a mirror, Dumbledore wouldn’t have lied about what he had seen. Socks? And Ron didn’t realize what the true nature of the mirror was when he told Harry what he had seen. How personal and private it must have been, what it could reveal about a person.

“Have you ever heard of the Mirror of Erised?”

“I cannot say I have. This has to do with how you believed to have met my older self?”

He sure was quick. “Yeah. Well-- okay, this whole situation is going to sound really strange, even by magical standards. But I saw you in that mirror.”

“I was your reflection? What exactly is the purpose of that mirror?”

“You weren't my reflection actually, you were standing beside my real reflection, and I think I remember there was a group of people behind us. I came back to the mirror a couple times, until Professor Dumbledore caught me. He’s headmaster now. But he said the Mirror of Erised was supposed to show--” Harry hesitated before continuing to write. “The heart's greatest desire. That if the happiest man in the world stood in front of it, he'd see himself. But I saw you despite having never met you. I'd never even heard your name before.”

It took him about a minute to both find all his words and write them down. As the ink disappeared, Harry held his breath waiting for Tom’s reply. He wouldn’t think it was… strange… would he?

Harry ran out of breath before Tom’s response came. He took a deep breath and looked at the clock on his nightstand, doing a double take at the time. It was a few minutes past midnight-- but how in the bloody--? He looked around the room, to find Ron, Dean, and Seamus had already tucked in for the night. Harry’s mouth fell open. This whole situation felt so bizarre and slightly disconcerting. Had he really lost track of time that quickly?

He glanced down at the diary just in time to see Tom’s response which disappeared, word by word, as soon as he read it.

“Do you believe in fate?”

A strange feeling settled in Harry’s chest, warm and heavy. Fate?

“I don’t know.”

“You are an interesting boy, Harry Potter.” There was an extra flourish on his name. Harry held the diary close to his face. “I cannot tell you why I might have appeared in your vision of the mirror. But something tells me that you and I-- that our lives, our fates must be closely interlinked. I believe we could both learn a lot from the other.”

Harry still didn’t quite understand anything that was going on, but thought that this was perhaps the best route he could take. This Tom Riddle… Harry’s hands quivered with excitement from imagining what he could teach him.

“I’d like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Capt Shakes @dumblepoop for beta-ing!
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr @thelastnero~
> 
> I'd also like to thank everyone who's left kudos, bookmarked, subscribed and commented! :)


	3. The Chamber of Secrets

“No object is so beautiful that, under certain conditions, it will not look ugly.”

-Oscar Wilde

 

Upon telling Hermione and Ron of the information about Hagrid, their responses were unsurprisingly mixed. Harry eventually regretted telling them due to having to repeat everything he saw and somehow covering up the rest of his conversation with Tom. The conversation that followed ran in a circle of whether Hagrid did it or not, and why “Riddle was such a snitch,” as put by Ron. Harry had wanted to defend Tom but caught himself, only for Hermione to scold Ron. When the question arose of whether to tell Hagrid, they decided almost unanimously not to unless there was another attack.

The next day’s classes were uneventful. The second years learned during their first class they would be choosing their electives for the next year. Harry and Ron returned to Gryffindor Tower after classes to find Neville pacing frantically outside.

“Forget the password again, Neville?” said Ron.

Neville turned and paled upon seeing Harry. “Harry — I don’t know who did it — I just found —” he gestured to Harry and led them to his dormitory door. He pushed it open to reveal the room that looked like a tornado had flown through it. Or at least through Harry’s part of the room.

His nightstand drawers were pulled out, his trunk’s contents laid scattered on the floor, even his mattress was off center.

“Bloody hell,” said Ron.

Harry sighed and started putting things back into place with the help of Ron and Neville.

Once they were finished, Harry realised with dread what the vandal had been looking for. Tom Riddle's diary was gone. His stomach did a somersault. Who would take it? Who had known he even had it?

“I know what they were looking for,” Harry muttered to Ron once Neville had left the room. “They took the diary.”

Ron’s eyes widened. “Really? No… You don’t think-- but only a Gryffindor could’ve taken it. Who could’ve found out about it?”

“My thoughts exactly.” They walked down to the common room and found Hermione sitting near the fireplace, book in hand. She was as shocked as they were to hear the news.

Harry had planned on spending the later hours of the night writing to Tom, but he didn’t quite know what to do with himself now. Hermione was studying, and Ron was playing Exploding Snap with Dean, Seamus, and Neville. When asked to join, Harry said he’d turn in early for the night. Now, here he was sitting in bed, his back to the headboard, feeling sorry for himself. Someone _took_ the diary from him. He was tempted to ransack all of Gryffindor Tower to find it, but realized how impractical that idea was.

He wondered what he and Tom what have talked about that night. Tom said they could learn from each other-- but what? Harry hadn't quite thought through his conversation from yesterday, but the whole thing intrigued him. Was there a thing such as fate, driving two people together for a certain reason?

Harry couldn't help the longing that formed in his gut, the feeling that he was missing something. Almost the same as when he had first encountered Tom in the Mirror of Erised the year before. But now that Harry had seen Tom and had spoken to him, Harry now knew who it was that he missed, somehow, all for the only chance he had to get answers to be ripped from his hands once more.

He  sighed and called it a night.

 

* * *

 

The attacks had started again. This time it had been two. A sixth year and a second year, both girls.

One of which was Hermione.

Harry and Ron had decided to act. They had visited Hagrid, met Aragog and got all the information they needed from Moaning Myrtle.

Another cryptic message had been painted with blood onto the wall in the Great Hall. Ginny Weasley had been taken into the Chamber of Secrets, and from the looks of the message, she would not be coming back.

Well, not if Harry and Ron could help it.

“Ginny!”

Ginny had taken the diary. If Harry wasn't so worried at the sight of her limp body on the chamber floor, he'd have been furious. “Ginny — don’t be dead — please don’t be dead — please wake up--”

“She won’t wake,” said a soft voice.

That voice. Harry’s eyes jolted up.

A fully corporeal Tom Riddle leaned against a pillar. No-- something was off. The edges of his body were blurry, like rain on a window. Harry was momentarily mesmerized. Tom looked so real, like he could just reach out and touch him.

“Tom?” said Harry with wonder.

He smiled that same smile Harry had seen in the mirror, except it didn’t meet his eyes. “Hello, Harry.” His eyes never left Harry for a moment.

“What-- What are you doing here? How--”

“I did say we had a lot we could teach each other, yes?” He was still smiling. “I thought I would find a way to make my memory more… permanently etched into Hogwarts. It seems I failed the first time around.”

Harry just remembered whose body was lying at his feet. “Tom, we have to get out of here and save Ginny-- the monster-- it’s a basilisk.”

“Harry, I don’t believe you understand exactly what has occurred here. Your friend’s sister… your Ginny… she is the one responsible for all this.”

“What?! Are you insane?” Tom frowned. Harry was left gaping for words. “She- she would never!”

“Harry, who do you think had my diary before you?”

Harry froze.

“No, she--” He furrowed his brow. “Why would she do something like that? And-- she’s not a parselmouth. How could she?”

Tom sighed. “I am afraid it is all my fault, Harry. You see, Ginny has had my diary since the beginning of your school year. When she asked who I was, well. She had been the first contact I had in 50 years. I showed her my memory of me opening the chamber of secrets in order to investigate.”

“You’re the parselmouth? But doesn't that mean you’re related to Slytherin?”

“While all of Slytherin’s descendants are parselmouths, not all parselmouths are descendants of Slytherin-- as I am sure you are aware. However, that is not to say one cannot… learn parseltongue, or rather, imitate parseltongue.”

“So she… saw you open the Chamber in your memory?”

“It was foolish of me to show anyone that memory but I was being childish. I wanted to impress her, to keep her talking to me. I had not spoken to any living soul for 50 years. I did not realise what had been done until you yourself told me that the chamber had been opened once more. By then she had stolen the diary back and I could not do anything. However, I played the idiot while she continued to write in my diary. I decided that in order to stop her, I must gain enough power to make myself physical once more. As Ginny poured her soul into my diary with her words, it seemed that I was able to contain her insecurities and twist them into magic that could help me reform.

“Ginny eventually caught on to the correlation between her feeling weak and her writing in the diary, so she brought it down to the chamber to dispose of it. But it was too late. I decided to end this once and for all. Ginny will never harm anyone ever again, and I will have a physical form once more. Efficiency at its finest.”

It all made sense logically, but Harry couldn't wrap his head around it. “But why?”

“I believe I understand. Ginny told me many things when she wrote in my diary-- how she was the youngest in a family of all boys, how she was constantly teased, how she was constantly being compared to her brothers and their achievements…” Tom looked at Harry pointedly. “How the boy she liked never noticed her. She had nothing of her own that wasn't taken by her brothers or secondhand. But with the discovery of the chamber, it promised a different kind of glory that no one could ignore. And she did not ignore it.”

“But the Weasleys aren't pureblood supremacists. She never once gave any indication of hating muggleborns.”

“I don't think it matters to her, Harry. She was fulfilling Slytherin’s ancient legacy. Just because she had no quarrel with muggleborns, doesn't mean anything. If someone is so selfish as to endanger others’ lives… Why discriminate? But I have a question for you, Harry. Are you trying to convince me, or are you trying to convince yourself?”

Harry paused. It did make sense, when put like that. But why did this whole situation feel so wrong?

“What do you plan on doing now?”

“I plan on staying here until Ginny is finally disposed of.”

“Disposed of? Shouldn’t we take her to Professor Dumbledore?”

Tom smiled and shook his head. “Harry, do you really think Dumbledore can help us? He held prejudice towards me when I was a student myself. Any courtesy he held was only due to my position as his student. There’s nothing stopping him from kicking me out of the castle now and he won't believe me or you for a moment. Besides, I doubt Dumbledore would approve of my actions now.”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t you remember what he had done when Rubeus was apprehended? He manipulated the situation to keep him out of Azkaban where he belonged. He would do the very same with this girl. Since Azkaban is as good as a death sentence anyways, I have decided to take care of Ginny in a way that also benefits myself.”

Harry had a revelation. “You’re… killing her?”

“I am simply protecting Hogwarts by purifying it of only one of the many diseases that plagues it. Afterwards, I will attempt to reintegrate myself into wizarding society.” Tom looked deep into Harry’s eyes, smiling. “Perhaps, with a new protege? You and I… we can fully explore what exactly your vision entails.”

“But… Ron-- Lockhart-- McGonagall-- They all sent me into the chamber to save Ginny. What will I tell them?”

“That you were too late. That Ginny fell prey to the basilisk by mistake of her own hand.”

Harry looked back down at Ginny, who still laid on the wet floor of the chamber. She laid with one arm spread out, the other to her chest, clutching the diary. Harry knelt by her side and pushed her hair from her face. She was deathly pale, as if all the blood had been drained from her body. She looked almost at peace, as if nothing were truly wrong with her. No bruises or wounds, no scrapes or cuts. Maybe a little dust in her hair. Her robes were damp. And her index finger was curiously red and shiny.

With blood, Harry realised with a jolt.

_“Her skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever.”_

He felt for his wand only to grasp air. His eyes twitched around the floor to see a shoe much closer than he remembered it being. Tom had moved from his position near the pillar to loom over Harry. He was twirling a holly wand between his fingers.

“I believe you dropped this, Harry. I will hold on to it for you until we get out of the Chamber. We wouldn't want it getting… misplaced.” Tom’s eyes glinted as he spoke. Harry felt like squirming under the penetrating eye contact.

“How… Do we get out? I don't think it would be easy to get through the entrance.”

Tom smiled. “Dont worry, I know a way out. Just a few minutes and we can leave.”

Harry knew he was playing a dangerous game. He knew that Tom knew. Tom knew that Harry knew.

The silence that followed was unbearable. Harry wished that he could do something, but he needed his wand in order to do anything. Never had he felt so helpless since coming to Hogwarts. Even at the Dursleys, there had been hope.

All that lay ahead of him now was despair. He had let his best friend down, let Hermione and the muggleborns and all of Hogwarts down. He was allowing an innocent girl to die right in front of him. And for what? The promise of a manipulative, 50 year old teenager he spoke to for one evening?

Harry felt a pit burrow deep in his stomach. His throat clenched as he swallowed.

With every second that passed, Ginny grew weaker and Tom grew stronger.

“What a pity. But only those with true power survive, after all. She was faking it from the beginning. She may have succeeded initially, but in the end, when faced with power such as mine, she could not prevail. Funny, the damage a silly little book can do.”

The diary. Harry dove for it, only for a shoe to pin his hand to Ginny’s side in a flash.

Tom leaned over him to grasp the diary and held it behind his back. He looked over Harry who was sprawled across the floor, caught like a child reaching into a cookie jar. Tom scolded him as a parent would, in a sickly sweet voice. “Now, Harry, what did I just say?”

He waited until Harry realised that he was expecting a reply.

“...That the book did damage…”

“That’s right. What sort of mentor would I be to let such a thing fall into my student’s hands?”

“Not a good one?”

Tom smiled. “There you are. I knew you would be a quick learner.” He lifted his foot and turned on his feet away from Ginny.

Harry felt sick.

He sighed and sat down on the floor once more. He slouched where he sat and bit back the urge to sob, gritting his teeth. His hands were shaking uncontrollably.

Some Gryffindor I am, he thought.

Suddenly, there was a loud explosion from above. The stone of the Chamber ceiling above them collapsed and a screech split the air. Stone crumbled and fell, rolling Harry over on the floor. He looked up to see Tom had been thrown against a pillar, his wand and the diary gone.

Scarlet plumage flew past Harry’s eyes.

“Fawkes!” He shouted in relief.

Fawkes trilled in return and dropped something brown and ragged into his lap.

The… sorting hat? Harry didn't hesitate in putting it on top of his head.

Please, please help, he thought.

The hat didn't answer, but instead convulsed as if someone were squeezing. Something hard and metal slammed down on Harry's head, almost knocking him out before he pulled the hat off.

It clattered to the floor, silver, steel, and bejewelled with egg sized rubies. A sword.

It was then he heard the hissing.

“Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts four.”

There was an echoing, a slippery squelch through the pipes.

“Kill him.”

Harry grabbed the sword and found he could barely lift it above his elbows. He locked eyes with Riddle and lunged.

Riddle sidestepped him with ease. Harry crashed to the floor and the sword hit the pillar in front of him with a _ting_! He turned and swung the blunt edge of the blade at Riddle’s feet from his position on the floor, and Riddle fell to the ground. Fawkes dove downward, dragging his claws against Riddle’s face. Black blood dribbled down his cheek.

Pure fury was the only word that could describe his eyes at that moment. “You’ll regret that, Potter.”

The sound of hissing and water sloshing along the floor made Harry freeze. He tilted the sword upright to look at the reflection it held. The basilisk was slithering closer and closer behind him.

He needed to take out its eyes, he thought. He crawled behind the pillar and braced himself.

Another screech sounded throughout the room. Harry used the sword to look behind him once more and saw red blurred into green.  The red swarmed the green, dancing over its head.

Harry looked around the pillar to see Fawkes soaring over the basilisk which was snapping its needle-like fangs at him. Fawkes dove once more and there was a terrible squelch heard. Blood hit the water below in small puddles.

“What are you doing?” Riddle screamed from the floor where Harry had forgotten he laid. “Leave the bird! The boy is behind you! Kill him!”

Harry walked toward Riddle, dragging the sword, and brought it up high. He swung it down and to the side, hoping to account for Riddles dodging. Riddle rolled in the same direction and the blade sliced the side of his arm.

He stumbled to his feet, clutching his arm and ran. The pitter patter of shoes on wet floor echoed throughout the Chamber. Harry made to chase him but looked forward to meet two glowing yellow orbs. His body froze, all sense of self-preservation leaving his body. He held his breath, petrified.

Except he wasn’t. His body was still shaking with adrenaline, he realised. He looked closer at the eyes to discover they were rung red with blood.

The basilisk snapped its jaws in his direction, but missed by a long shot.

“He’s right in front of you, for Slytherin’s sake! You can smell him!” Riddle’s voice screamed from the other side of the room.

Harry made a break to his left, the basilisk lunging into the wall. Its jaws had unhinged to expose all of its fangs, but had been bent parallel to the wall during its crash. The edges of its mouth were ripped and it seemed to need to recover from the hit. Fawkes circled overhead, crooning an eerie song that left the snake in a trance.

As he turned his head back to Riddle, Harry’s eyes widened at the sight he saw. Somehow Riddle had found his discarded wand and was pointing it at him from across the room.

“Incompetent… no matter. It will much more...rewarding to finish you myself.” Riddle grit his teeth and stepped forward.

“Tom-- why are you doing this?”

“There is no way you are talking yourself out of this again, Potter,” he spat. “I gave you your chance, and you made the wrong decision. And now,” he smiled eerily and his face scrunched up, the beauty of his face twisting into something hideous. “You’ll find you won’t have enough time in the world to regret what you have just done.”

This guy was psychotic, Harry thought. How in the bloody hell had this situation turned so quickly? One second Tom was so polite, then the next… It seemed as though Harry had been just traipsing about in a minefield all this time and had simply gotten lucky not to trigger an explosion. Now, it was blowing up in his face.

“Imperio!” A yellow-green light flashed across the room and Harry dove to the side. What was that?! If only he had his wand… but that was the crux of the problem, wasn’t it? The eloquent, precise yet sporadic nature of magic versus the brute force of a sword, as fancy as it was?

His heart raced as he tried to think of a way out. Fawkes was occupied with keeping the basilisk disabled. It was only him and Riddle now.

Harry spotted a large, circular opening on the side of one wall-- the pipes. He ran. He nearly slipped on the wet floor and got his robe caught under his feet before discarding it, leaving him in his white shirt. Riddle shot unidentifiable spell after spell at him, but Harry made it into the pipe. It was just large enough where he could stand without having to slouch. If Riddle wanted to come after him, he’d have a more difficult time navigating the tunnels due to his height.

That is, if there wasn’t a dead end. Then Harry was in trouble. No-- it had to lead somewhere-- that’s how the basilisk travelled throughout Hogwarts. Maybe he would be able to get out somewhere and get help.  


* * *

 

 

Harry had underestimated how much running he would have to do and how much the sword would weigh him down. While the pipes had initially started out cramped with low ceilings, they had opened up to much taller. He couldn’t even reach the ceiling anymore. He still had gained a head start over Riddle, of which he was already grateful. He rounded a corner, confident Riddle was a decent distance away, and hunched over gasping for breath, his hands on his knees. There seemed to be no end in sight. The pipes were like a maze, except he couldn't reach through the hedge to see where he’s been.

“There’s no way out, Potter! Come meet your death with some dignity--” Riddle’s voice echoed.

He heard the slap of shoes on water and started running again, despite his body’s protests. He felt as though he was going to throw up if he even thought about stopping.

Turning another corner, he froze. There, from above, was light streaming down into the tunnel. Small rectangles reflected onto the water. Harry stepped forward and looked up. A large metal grate embellished the ceiling-- large enough to enable a very large snake to break through to the surface.

Of course-- the pipes were underground, _because the Chamber was underground_ . There was absolutely no way he could reach that grate. Harry started breathing harder and couldn’t stop, body trembling. _He was stuck down there_ . _There was no way out_ . _He was going to die down there_ . Forget Ginny-- Ron might be able to get her body back. Harry? His body would rot where _no one_ would be able to find him.

Riddle’s footsteps echoed from a hall away. He was close-- too close for Harry to be able to outrun him again and reach another intersection. He would appear around that corner and it would all end. Unless…

Harry looked down at the sword in his hand. He reached over and ran his finger along the sharp side of the blade. Could he… No. But… he had before. He had swung the sword at Riddle in the main atrium of the Chamber without thought of the consequences. Now that he was thinking about it, why was he hesitating?

The image of Quirrell appeared before him. He hadn’t meant to harm anyone that time either, but Quirrell was dead and it was Harry’s fault. And somehow, there had been no consequence.

No one besides Ginny even knew that Tom M. Riddle was even alive right now-- and no one would.

Harry lifted the sword from where he had been resting it on the ground and walked silently on the sides of his feet to the corner Riddle would be turning. He had soothed his frenzied breathing and now took deep breaths. His legs felt like gelatin and his right arm twinged. If he had been smart, he would have switched arms while carrying the sword. If he had been smart, he thought, he would have had a teacher other than Gilderoy Lockhart accompany him and Ron. He swallowed hard and steeled himself. He raised the sword up over his shoulder and stood in wait by the corner.

Seconds passed and already his arms felt like they would collapse. Not a moment later, Riddle came barrelling down the hall and Harry swung as high as he could.

There was a bloodcurdling scream.

Brilliant white light enveloped the room, emanating from Riddle’s body that had _somehow_ been sliced completely in half. Harry, wide-eyed, looked down at the sword which was, as expected, dripping black, ink-like blood, but was also _glowing_ . The sword fell to the floor with a _clang_ as Harry jumped back.

A deadly quiet sounded through the halls. Harry could only hear the sound of his labored breathing as he slumped to the floor, back against the wall.

In and out, he thought, in and out. He looked across the hall to see where Riddle’s body lied-- only for his heart to jump inside his chest. Riddle’s body had disappeared. His head snapped from side to side-- but nobody, nothing was there.

His hands shook as he picked his wand up from the ground. As he made to retrace his steps to return to the main Chamber, something else caught his eye. There-- lying in a puddle was a small, leatherbound book. Harry’s heart beat sporadically in his chest. Allowing his legs to give out on him, Harry collapsed onto the floor, his head in his hands. The filthy water soaked his trousers down to his socks. He peeked through his fingers at the diary. It laid there as if it had done nothing wrong.

Rage bled through his eyes. His hands reached out to the diary and took one side of the pages in each hand. He made to rip it apart, but found he couldn’t. With each attempt, Harry became more and more angry, and more and more frustrated. After three attempts, he threw the diary back into the puddle. With a huff, he picked up the sword once more and tried to stab through the diary-- it bounced back with force equal to that of which he put into his strike.

He knew he could have left it in the tunnels. In fact, it probably would have been better off down there, where no one would be able to find it again. But he just _couldn’t_. Never did he want to speak to Tom Riddle again, but… He felt attached to the diary in a strange way. He knew if he left it down there, whatever happened to the diary next, if anything, was out of his control. Harry, who had felt so powerless, so out of control minutes, hours before, never wanted to be in that position again. He stuffed the diary in his back pocket.

He walked over and peered around the corner where he had originally came. A long, lightless hall stretched ahead of him, leading into the maze he knew lied beyond.  


* * *

 

 

Harry felt ready to pass out once he reached the Chamber’s atrium. He had already caught himself nodding off as he walked through the tunnels. At any moment, he had expected to find himself sleepwalking. Getting back to the entrance had taken much longer than it had taken him to reach the grate. He could have argued that it was due to his getting lost several times, but his complete and utter exhaustion was more likely the culprit.

He had no idea what had happened to Fawkes and the basilisk-- if they had killed each other, if Fawkes had kept the basilisk entranced under his song for the hours Harry had been away. He just hoped he was alive-- he didn’t think he would forgive himself if he got another creature, Dumbledore’s pet of all creatures, involved in something like this. If the basilisk was still alive, out on the prowl… Harry didn’t think he would be able to outrun it.

Harry poked his head out of the pipe to see the basilisk was gone from where it had been before. He looked around the room and noticed that the engraving of Salazar Slytherin that had been on the wall, where its mouth had opened to let the basilisk out was now as it had been before Riddle had opened it.

He averted his eyes and remembered why he had came down to the Chamber in the first place.

“Ginny…” he breathed out.

She was lying exactly where Harry had seen her last. He felt her neck for her pulse and was relieved to find she was still alive. Something seemed...off about her though. Harry couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Shouldn’t she have been fine now that Riddle was gone and couldn’t control her anymore?

He dropped the sword to the ground and kneeled down to shake her shoulder. “Ginny--wake up,” his voice came out hoarse. “Please, wake up.” A sudden feeling of deja vu hit him.

It was then he heard a melodic song echoing through the Chamber, coming from the entrance. _Fawkes_ , Harry thought. He looked at Ginny once more. It seemed he would have to carry her. His eyes flicked back to the sword that had saved him, still covered in black ooze. There was no way he would be able to carry both Ginny and the sword out of the Chamber.

Harry lifted her awkwardly, first attempting to pick her up bridal style but found it to be much more difficult than it appeared in muggle movies. Eventually, he just looped his arms under her armpits and stumbled backwards through the dark tunnel. The stone door carved with snakes shut behind them, forever closed until another Parselmouth spoke to it again. When they neared the caved-in wall where he had left Ron and Lockhart, a voice called out.

“Harry!” A familiar voice shouted. “Are you alright? Is that… Ginny?!”

Harry cleared his throat. “Yeah. I’m okay… Ginny is hurt.” He turned his head to see Ron’s face sticking out of a hole cleared from the rubble.

Ron went pale upon seeing his sister. “Is...she still alive?” he said quietly.

“Just barely. If... I hadn’t gotten there... in time…” Harry felt lightheaded.

“Here,” said Ron hurriedly, sticking his arms through the opening. “I think we can get her through here, then you can come through. Can you lift her up?”

“I can… try.” Harry heaved Ginny up, nearly bending backwards.

“Give me her feet and I can pull her through--”

Harry awkwardly reached down a hand to lift one of Ginny’s legs and rest it on the stone, then doing the other.

“Alright, I got her, you can let go--”

He fell against the rubble, his legs turned to lead. A few stones fell down.

“Harry-- are you alright? Be careful, we can’t have the rocks cave again--”

“Sorry, I-- I need to rest.”

“Come through first, Lockhart can help you. I’ll take care of Ginny. Here,” Ron’s hand reached through the hole once more.

Harry grasped his hand and pushed himself through as best he could while Ron pulled and made it through to the other side. He then promptly proceeded to pass out.

 

* * *

 

Light drifted in and out of his senses. He didn’t see-- he felt. An ethereal haze drifted over his sight, like looking through a sheer, silken curtain. He could make out shadow and sun, shapes but not features… A voice murmured in his ear, muffled, with indistinguishable words. His body was being cradled like a child’s, rocking back and forth gently in warmth.

The golden hue of the sun faded and the haze dissipated to be replaced with artificial white-- the warmth and silk overturned by cold and linen. The moon shone cooly through the window beside the medical cot Harry laid on. He blinked slowly and reached his hands to rub the sleep from his eyes. The room was completely quiet. Harry looked around the room, but it was was too dark to see more than three meters ahead of him. The cot beside him held another patient, one with red hair sprawled out across her pillow. She seemed to be writhing in some unforeseen pain, yet she remained silent. Harry had to turn his head away from the sight, taking a deep breath.

Besides the two of them, the hospital ward was completely empty. That had to mean the petrified students had received the mandrake draughts and been healed. He had to assume it was the middle of the night as Madam Pomfrey was absent. Laying back, he tried to go back to sleep but was kept wide awake. Something pressed up against him when he tried to lay down. He flipped over to look at the cot, but nothing was there besides the sheets starched stiff. He felt his back pockets to find something stuffed in one of them.

The diary. His heartbeat sped up, and his hands recoiled. There was no way he’d be sleeping now.

The medical cot creaked as Harry rose. His shirt was still filthy, dirt and ink soaked into the white. The clock on the wall showed the time to be 3:45 am. All of the professor’s patrols should have been over by now. Even wizards had to sleep after all.

Walking Hogwarts’ halls at night was always a different experience to doing so in the day. Regardless, it always seemed alive and a bit surreal. Harry didn't sneak about, but he didn't stomp through the halls either. He passed a window that let moonlight illuminate the floor. He knew he could have spent this time thinking, but for once thinking didn't appeal to him. It would only keep him up further.

He pulled the diary out of his pocket and stared at it as he walked. His fingers clenched the leather and all he felt was frustration.

A chill ran down his body and his eyes jerked upright. Greyish-blue film flickered past his sight. He turned his head to look behind him. The Grey Lady had just walked right through him and upon hearing Harry turn, looked back as well. Her gaze fell on the book in his hands for a moment, then back to Harry. Her face held no emotion. Harry supposed she might be considered pretty, if she didn't seem so untouchable.

“Um- Sorry-- for running into you, I mean. If you can feel that,” stumbled out of his mouth.

She gave him a sad smile with seemingly knowing eyes. The smile lasted only a second before she frowned, looking Harry up and down.

“Right well… have a good night. Or a good morning… I’ll just go now.”

Ghosts usually didn’t make him uneasy, but the way she was currently eyeing him up unsettled him. Walking quickly down the hall, Harry soon reached the Defense Against the Dark Arts tower. He didn’t know what possessed him to do so, but he climbed all the stairs until he reached the tower’s very top. Through the windows, he could see the Black Lake, calm and unmoving in the night air. If someone wanted to, they could jump out of the tower and land safely, albeit painfully, in the lake’s water.

Harry sighed and pulled the diary out once more. He fingered the hardened leather binding and wondering what he would have to do to get it to sink into the lake. Maybe the giant squid could tear it apart whilst he couldn’t. There were featherlight and levitation charms, why not the opposite?

Or he could just get a really heavy rock and strap it to the diary. He liked that idea better.

He turned to go down the stairs and nearly shouted in fright. The Grey Lady was standing, or rather floating, just inches away from him and was staring straight at him. Her face was once again void of any expression.

“What are you doing with that?” she said softly.

Harry blinked and looked at the diary in his hand. “This?” He raised it.

“Yes.”

“Uh-- I don’t know. I was going to keep it, but then I thought it’d be better if I just tossed it into the lake…”

“You remind me of him.”

He paused, mouth opened to speak, but couldn’t will the words out.

“But you’re different.” They locked eyes, and she spoke again, slowly. “That book… is very dark magic. He never let it out of his sight. And I don’t think you should either.”

“What… What do you mean by dark magic?” So it wasn’t just a memory, as Riddle had said.

She glided across the tower and gazed out the window down at the courtyard.

“The kind of magic that taints all that it touches-- that defiles everything good that may have been hidden within.”

Harry moved to stand beside her and followed her eyes to the fountain below. “And… you think I should keep it?”

The Grey Lady turned to look at Harry and nodded, ever so subtle. “Many beautiful ideas and things have been tainted and many more will be in the future. But under all the dust and darkness, there always lies the original. If it is lost… or hidden… or worse, abandoned… it may never be restored to its true glory.”

“I… Thank you. For your words. I think I understand,” Harry smiled softly at her. “I can see why you’re Ravenclaw’s ghost.”

She smiled, just barely, looking longingly out the window once more.

 

* * *

 

Harry wandered down and walked the halls for roughly an hour, contemplating the Grey Lady’s advice. Something about it just resonated with him. When the sun rose, he decided to stop by Dumbledore’s office.

As he approached the gargoyles, he caught sight of a tall man with long platinum hair being trailed by a house elf.  Lucius Malfoy sneered upon seeing Harry, but Dobby perked up.

“Up early, aren’t we?”

“I couldn’t sleep. And I need to speak to Professor Dumbledore.”

“Well, I’m afraid you’ll have to wait,” Malfoy drawled.

A new voice emerged. “That won’t be necessary, Lucius. I’m sure what the boy has to say will be relevant to us both. Please, both of you, come in.” Dumbledore led them both into his office.

“Now, Lucius, I think we have a few matters to update you about. Harry here was able to open the Chamber of Secrets and rescue one Ginny Weasley from the monster that laid within.”

Malfoy seemingly ignored him. “The matter is, Dumbledore, that the school board has not been impressed with your handling of this matter and would like you to step down as Headmaster.”

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled and his gaze fell on Harry. “Harry, my boy, wouldn’t you say this matter has been handled?”

“Um… yes. The Chamber will never be opened again. I… found the source of what was causing it to be opened. A student was being possessed by the old Heir of Slytherin. This diary,” Harry raised the diary from his back pocket, “Enabled that to happen.”

Dobby, who had been waiting patiently and silently behind Malfoy’s back, suddenly went wide-eyed at the sight of the diary. He stared fixedly at it, then back at Harry, pointing at the diary, back at Malfoy, and then hitting himself in the head. Harry understood and nodded to Dobby.

“Shouldn’t this... student be reprimanded nonetheless for allowing themselves into this situation?”

“No, no, Lucius. I believe poor Ginny Weasley could not have prevented this from taking place… And I fear she may have already suffered immense consequences to her actions,” said Dumbledore.

“What do you mean, Professor?” Harry said slowly.

Dumbledore sighed and shook his head. “Miss Weasley, I’m afraid… You saved her just in time to save her life, Harry. When a witch or wizard is drained of their very essence of self, their soul, their magic… suffers. And in most cases, can never be restored after a certain point. Miss Weasley was only on the brink of the living when she was taken to the Hospital Wing. Madam Pomfrey was able to stabilize her, but it looks as though young Ginny will never be able to perform magic again.”

While Malfoy simply raised an eyebrow, Harry’s mouth had fallen wide open. That was possible?

“Dumbledore--” Malfoy started.

“I will be extending an offer to her parents to allow Ginny to stay on Hogwarts grounds during the school year, perhaps to apprentice under another professor or faculty member. It would be her choice. I’m afraid it is all I can do to offer any sort of reconciliation, however underwhelming it may be. And Lucius?”

He grimaced. “Yes?”

“I sincerely hope a misunderstanding like this never has to occur again. I do rather enjoy my position as Headmaster. You would understand.”

“Of course,” he drawled. “I must take my leave now.”

“Have a wonderful morning, Lucius.”

Lucius Malfoy exited the headmaster’s office and Harry suddenly had an idea as to how to thank Dobby. He would have to be careful, but in the end, he would be able to both keep the diary and free the poor house elf. He slipped off his shoe, took off his still slimy sock, and stuffed in into the diary’s pages. He turned to Dumbledore and said, “I’ll be right back. I have to talk to Mr. Malfoy about something.”

Without waiting for a reply, he flew out the door and ran after Malfoy, who was clanking his cane irritably against the floor as he walked.

“Mr. Malfoy! You forgot something of yours!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my beta Archie @dumblepoop.
> 
> Feel free to follow me on Tumblr for updates @thelastnero.
> 
> Remember to leave kudos, comment and bookmark <3


	4. The Prisoner of Azkaban

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE FANSERVICE BECAUSE I SURE DO.
> 
> Warnings: Not super explicit, but probably nsfw. Somnophilia.

“Rules tend to be written in blood. The bar for safety is set by tragedy.”

-Unknown

 

Third year came quicker than Harry had anticipated, but most likely due to his eventful summer-- at least, more eventful than normal. The Dursleys didn't dare threaten to prevent him from returning to Hogwarts again, but that did not mean they were any friendlier.

With the news of Sirius Black, he had become slightly paranoid. The shadows seemed to follow him every time he went outside to tend the garden or get the mail. Maybe it was due to the presence of Riddle’s diary hidden under his mattress, but Harry never felt truly alone. Even keeping it in his room left him anxious, but he knew he couldn’t carry it on his person lest Dudley catch on. Last year, while he did get the Diary back from Malfoy due to Dobby’s own aid, simply allowing another person to touch the diary even momentarily felt wrong. 

After the mess with the Knight Bus and after staying at the Leaky Cauldron for the latter part of the summer, he was relieved to be going back to Hogwarts. Harry met with the Weasleys at Platform 9 and 3/4. Arthur Weasley had warned him of Sirius Black once again and Molly fussed over him as usual. Ginny stood solemnly off to the side and Harry couldn't help but feel guilty. She would be apprenticing under Professor Sprout, as plants- magical or otherwise- did not typically require their caregivers to be magic themselves. Between Hagrid, Snape, and Sprout being the most suitable mentors for a near-squib subject-wise, Sprout was likely the safest option.

Harry boarded the train with Ron and Hermione and sat in the only train-car that wasn’t occupied-- except for one Professor R.J. Lupin. Considering Harry’s experiences with names initialed like that, he felt uneasy and thought about the diary. It had been stuffed into his trunk under his robes and books. He couldn't bear to leave it at the Dursley’s, but its constant presence made him oddly defensive. 

The thought of Black being after him put him only further on edge during the train ride. Guards walked along the aisle of the train. Hermione and Ron badgered him about not going after Black, but he couldn’t think of why in the hell he would willingly get himself in another confrontation. Last year had been bad enough. While he had eventually saved the school, the consequences left the victory bittersweet. Eventually, Hermione understood when his mood suddenly went dour, distracting the oblivious Ron with some conversation about his family’s holiday to Egypt.

Harry thought that their new Defense professor may have had the right idea and he decided to take a nap himself.   
  


* * *

 

 

Professor Lupin easily became Harry's favorite professor, and not just because he was a friend of his parents. Not only was he an excellent teacher, but Harry felt he could trust him.

Several times, he had felt tempted to open up Riddle's diary again and see what his opinion of an event would be: the whole situation with Sirius Black for one. Riddle was obviously an older wizard who knew advanced magic that he couldn't even recognise when dueling him in the Chamber. Well, not so much dueling, more running. If anyone could teach him how to defend himself, it would be Riddle. The problem was that he doubted he would want to help him after the events that had transpired and would be more likely to try to possess him than hand Harry the means to protect himself.

It was after Halloween when he decided to take action. While all of the other 3rd years went to Hogsmeade that Sunday afternoon, Harry, of course, had to stay behind due to not the Dursleys nor Minister Fudge signing his permission slip. He had decided to spend the afternoon with Lupin in his office. He later found out that Sirius Black had broken into Gryffindor Tower and attacked the Fat Lady while everyone was away. If he had been up in Gryffindor Tower, or worse, the hallways, he might have been the one slashed up. All anyone could talk about was Sirius Black, and Harry was tailed by teachers and Gryffindor prefects alike. 

The next day, Harry approached Lupin in his office. “Professor?”

Professor Lupin turned, looking slightly worse for wear. Harry had noticed it on Halloween, but today he seemed particularly stressed. Nevertheless, he tried to put up a positive front. “Yes, Harry?”

He hesitated to ask. “I can come back later if you’re busy--”

“No, nonsense, go ahead, Harry. Here, take a seat,” he drew a chair out for Harry to sit. “Tea?”

“Yes, please.” Seconds later, he had a cup in his hand and Lupin was sitting in the chair beside him, sipping from his cup.

“Nothing like tea to relax a person. I’d bet you’re a bit tired of everyone following after you today, aren’t you?” Lupin said with a chuckle.

Harry smiled. “A bit. I appreciate the concern, but…”

“But you need a bit of breathing room?”

“Yeah,” he laughed. “Actually, I wanted to ask you something-- if you would be willing to do it, with your illness and all. I was wondering if… well, I could have some additional defense lessons?”

Lupin sat his tea down and gave him a pointed look. “Harry… you aren’t thinking of going after Sirius Black, are you? What he did to your parents… terrible thing, I think of it all the time, but getting revenge...”

“I know-- I don’t want to go after him and I don’t understand why everyone thinks I would want to. I’m not suicidal, I just-- I want to be able to protect myself, just in case,” he sighed. “Everyone’s trying to protect me now, only after what happened last night. But what if something happens like that again? If I hadn’t been with you, I would’ve been up in that tower.”

Lupin picked up his tea and looked at Harry thoughtfully. “Well… considering our unit on dark creatures will not be ending until December… I suppose if anyone was needing practical defense lessons, it would be you, Harry. Of course, I’ll help you.” He smiled, putting a hand on Harry’s shoulder.

Harry grinned at him. “Thank you, sir.”

“Now, we’ll have to work around my… illness, but how do Sunday mornings sound? While all your friends are getting ready for Hogsmeade, you won’t have to feel so down.”

“That sounds great.” It was nice having something to look forward to. It took his mind of his ever-growing paranoia, at least.

The next Sunday, Harry found himself in a classroom he had never been to before, as per Lupin’s instructions by owl. 

“It occurs to me that your education may be, well, lacking from your first and second years. I understand your teachers were not the most focused on your education.”

“That’s a bit of an understatement.”

Lupin chuckled. As much as he tried to maintain an aura of professionalism, it always seemed to drop around Harry. “Well, I know you might not like this much, but I think we should revise what you already know before broaching new topics and spells. We didn’t have much time in class to revise because of all the things we need to cover. Ministry’s standards and all that. Now, what spell are you most comfortable using?”

“Uh… I don’t know, the disarming charm?”

“So, you like disabling your opponents rather than attacking them outright?”

“I guess. I haven’t actually done much dueling outside of classes… Last year, Lockhart tried to start a dueling club, but…”

“But Lockhart being the esteemed Lockhart turned it into another way to boast?”

Harry snorted. “Exactly.”

Lupin smiled, a far off look in his eyes. “He’d never admit it, but your father was like that sometimes. We joked that he needed his own house to hold his ego. Except he had a bit more tact and was a bit more intelligent than Lockhart ever was. Anyways,” his tone changed abruptly with a wave of his hand.  “Today I’d like to practice the Expelliarmus charm with you, see the way you do it. I have a feel for your style from class, of course, but I’d like to explore your dueling habits further.”

Professor Lupin was a great teacher with an eternal patience, but even Harry got a bit bored of doing the same spell over and over again. Lupin seemed to notice his growing impatience.

“I think we’ve had quite enough of that for today. Now, what I’ve noticed is that you tend to start speaking the spell before your wand performs the appropriate gesture…”

The week after that, they had moved on to the full body-bind curse. Harry was a bit frustrated, considering it was a first-year spell.

“We’re still revising?” he asked, holding in a sigh. He was a bit disappointed but didn’t want to let Lupin know he was unhappy.

“Yes, Harry, don’t give me that look. Your mastery of the disarming charm is excellent, but it wouldn’t be wise to rely on it all the time. Petrificus Totalus is a spell that only increases in usefulness as you become older and more skilled with your magic. Its effectiveness is determined by the will of its caster,” said Lupin. “A first year might be able to hold it for a few minutes-- a seventh year, a few hours. Of course, hopefully, you will never be in a position where that is necessary, but I can think of a few where it would come in handy to have practice.”

“Like if Sirius Black suddenly springs out of the corridors and we need time to call in the dementors before he murders me?” Harry quipped.

Lupin grimaced. “That’s one.”

 

* * *

 

The next two lessons went over the leg-locker curse and stickfast hex in one lesson, then finally the reductor curse in the other. Harry had been relieved to actually being able to learn something new, especially something as flashy as the reductor. It had been extremely satisfying to finally make something explode, in all his years of being a wizard.

It was then however that Lupin informed him he wouldn’t be able to make the next lesson. 

“I’ll be out all of next weekend. Regretfully, I won’t be able to see your first quidditch game, but this is non-negotiable, I’m afraid,” said Lupin apologetically.

“Oh-- it’s fine. And it’s only my first game  _ this _ year,” Harry said, scratching his head. He didn’t want to make it a big deal, but if Professor Lupin couldn’t make it, then he couldn’t make it.

 

* * *

 

The game against Hufflepuff had been a complete disaster, to say the least. No one had any idea why the dementors decided to swarm Harry, but it happened. He hated to start thinking like Trelawney, but he was starting to think that black dog was really a bad omen.

Cedric Diggory, the seeker for Hufflepuff, tried to forfeit the match after he caught the snitch, but Oliver Wood had simply accepted the loss.

If someone were to ask him, Harry would tell them he thought he spent far too much time in the hospital wing during his Hogwarts career. The experience of being fussed over became old after the first ten minutes. 

It was now Saturday night, day two of his extended ‘holiday’ to the hospital wing, except it wasn’t really because he still had to go to classes on Monday. The excitement regarding his falling out of the sky had died down, and only Ron, Hermione, and a couple other Gryffindors visited him every so often. While it had been easy to ignore the effects the dementors had upon him with everyone distracting him during the day, Harry was all alone now. Madam Pomfrey had turned in for the night and no other patients were staying over night. He vaguely wished Professor Lupin had been there to offer him some of that chocolate he always seemed to carry with him.

While he remembered his first encounter with a dementor being absolutely awful, it didn’t hold a candle to being smothered by a dozen of the creatures at once. It had all been  _ so cold _ . When he began to fall, hurtling through the air, he couldn’t bring himself to even try to reach for his broom. It was like he had accepted his death, any kind of release from that dark, barren place the dementors had brought him to.

Now, he was feeling the after-effects of it all. He was aware it wasn’t actually him feeling these things, but that thought horrified him even further. Without the presence of other people, he had to withdraw into himself or risk becoming a husk. He tried to will himself asleep-- the sooner the next morning came, the sooner he wouldn’t feel so empty.

He breathed deeply through his nose, and let it out through his mouth in a rhythmic manner.  _ Clear your mind _ . _ Forget everything that has happened, everything you’ve seen _ . He closed his eyes, as his mind began to feel a bit fuzzy. Deep breaths. His body relaxed and his mind calmed. It almost felt like he was falling again, but so slowly, nothing could harm him.  _ You’re invincible _ . A pleasant warmth consumed his body. The shadows seen through his eyelids swirled lazily, shifting their colors from browns and oranges to rich purples and greens. The room surrounding him felt like it was moving, as though he was being rocked in layers of warmth, the sound of his breathing echoing off the walls. A pressure caressed him from all sides.

He thought he felt the lightest of touches on his cheek, leaving a flushed trail of blood rising to the surface of his skin. Like a feather, the touch trailed down a vein of his neck, down his chest, leaving heat wherever it wandered. He felt his body instinctively rub up against the source of these feelings, almost like a cat, desperate to encourage more. 

It was definitely a hand, he realised, as its touches felt more and more firm. A smooth, uncalloused, but still large hand. Now-- two hands, running down his shoulders, down his arms. Fingers traced designs on his left hand, eventually interlocking with his. His hand was brought up, and something ever so soft caressed the back of it. Heat warmed his face as an image flashed through his head: plush lips on his hand, dark, shining eyes gazing back up at him. His mind blanked and his limbs felt heavy. Any inclination of moving had suddenly left him. 

The body seemed to hover over him for quite some time, stroking his hand. He could feel its presence, its exact position as though it were an extension of his very being. It was as though he was being watched over. He felt infinitely safe without even needing to open his eyes.

A weight settled on his body, pressing him further against the hospital bed. Those hands had trailed back to his shoulders, and a pair of lips brushed against his neck.  Harry couldn't help but lean and bare it to the one before him. His breath had become disjointed, almost panting due to the complete and utter heat flowing through him. 

A hand trailed down his chest once more, his stomach, until it finally slipped under his shirt to touch sweat-laden skin. Fingers ran up and down his body, grazing over his nipples but never staying in one place. Subconsciously, Harry started rocking into the body above his, chasing any sort of friction that was currently being denied to him. He heard an exhale of air near his ear, a slight laugh that caused the hair on his neck to stand and his back to arch as he gasped at the sensation. 

Lips reattached themselves to kiss along his jaw. A hand reached down to press itself firmly against the bulge in his trousers, when a wet warmth suddenly encompassed Harry. 

He jerked awake with a gasp.

 

* * *

 

It hadn’t been the first time he’d had a wet dream. Those started around last year. But never had they ever been so intense - most times he just woke to find his underwear soaked and his sheets ruined in the morning. Never had he had a fully comprehensible dream attached to it. Harry hesitated to call it a dream, for it felt so real… but what else could he call it? He knew the person who was in that dream and there was no way it could have actually been him… could it?

A part of Harry had felt incredible shame upon waking up and realising just what had happened. He had gotten off to the idea of a psychopath who literally tried to kill him and effectively made his best friend’s sister a squib. What made him feel worse was that he didn't feel any guilt regarding that fact, but more so because it felt like _ more _ than something just sexual. Hell, he’d once thought  _ Draco Malfoy _ was attractive but never felt longing for him like he did Riddle. 

His life was a mess. _ I guess this is what being a teenager is like _ , he thought.

 

* * *

 

 

The rest of his stay in the hospital wing was rather uneventful, although the cloud of depression that had been hanging over him all of Saturday had been banished by Sunday. December had rolled around the corner and snow had sprinkled over Hogwarts.

Harry had asked Professor Lupin if there was any spell to help with the dementors, but Lupin said he would need to take another month off of their lessons due to both the upcoming break and his illness. They would start their lessons back up in January when the next term had started. Harry, of course, was disappointed. At least, until he learned of a way to get into Hogsmeade on the weekends from two very mischievous twins...

Upon learning the whole story behind Sirius Black at the Three Broomsticks, Harry knew he had to question Lupin about it. The problem was he had an entire winter holiday ahead of him.

Following his lesson on the Patronus charm in January, Harry tried to ask Professor Lupin about Black, but found that Lupin evaded his question and told him it was getting late. On the plus side, however, Harry began learning many more advanced spells from Lupin now that he had proved he could manage the difficult patronus charm. They’d moved on to mostly shields and stunners at that point. Perhaps now if he ever found himself confronted by Sirius Black, he might have a chance.

When Harry learned it was all just a misunderstanding, he couldn't control either his excitement towards living with Sirius nor his rage towards Pettigrew. He honestly felt like he could have killed him right there if they hadn’t needed him alive to prove Sirius’ innocence.   


“One wrong move, Peter,” said Lupin as they made their way across the grounds towards the castle. 

Pettigrew seemed to be hyperventilating as he was dragged along between Lupin and Ron. Sirius handled the unconscious Snape as Harry and Hermione trailed behind.

The sky was tumultuously cloudy, grey, black and blue like someone had decided to teach the atmosphere a very painful lesson. A cloud seemed to recoil in accordance to then bathe the group in moonlight.

Lupin stopped treading. A chain of person running into person began and he had completely frozen where he stood, shaking sporadically.

“Oh no,” said Hermione. “He didn't take his potion tonight-- he’s not safe--”

“Run,” Sirius whispered. “Run, now.”

But they couldn't. Ron was leaned against Pettigrew due to his leg which was sure to be broken. 

Lupin had begun to transform, his body lengthening, his clothes tearing and he began to shed his human like features. 

“No!” Hermione yelled, causing Harry to look where she was.

Pettigrew had pushed Ron to the ground and dove for Lupin’s wand. He sent a flash of light at Ron.

“Petrificus Totalus!” A white spark shot from Harry’s wand and Pettigrew fell to the ground, completely prone.

“Good job, Harry--” Hermione was cut off by growling and howling beside them.

In the grass, Lupin was wrestling with Sirius in his animagus form, both sides biting and clawing desperately at the other.

Hermione looked between Harry and the jumble of animalistic limbs. “Should we go get help? Oh my-- what happened to Ron?”

Ron sat on the ground looking completely out of it, his eyes glazed over.

Harry raised his voice over the growling, speaking hurriedly. “I don’t know, I thought it was his leg, but Pettigrew did something--”

“We need to get a teacher-- besides Snape!” 

Snape had been abandoned by Sirius in the action and was now laying on the ground.

“I’ll stay here, you get Professor Dumbledore or McGonagall if you can.”

“Got it!” Hermione sprinted towards the castle leaving Harry to attend to Ron. He just hoped that Sirius would be able to hold off Lupin long enough. 

It was then that Sirius began running across the grounds toward the lake, Lupin hot in pursuit. Harry couldn’t see beyond the treeline and stepped to follow, but he hesitated. Was it safe to just leave Ron, Pettigrew and Snape here? If Hermione came back before he did, she’d kill him.

The sound of a dog yelping made his decision. He glanced momentarily towards Pettigrew. He grabbed Lupin’s wand from the ground and Snape and Ron’s from their pockets before taking off toward the Black Lake.

As he reached the shoreline, the yelping had stopped. Instantly, he could see why. 

Sirius was hunched over on all fours in human form, panting. He brought his hands around his head.

A cold feeling of dread washed over Harry.

“No,” Sirius writhed on the ground, moaning. “Please no…”

Harry couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t move. He didn’t want to move.

The grey and blue of the night darkened to black. The cloaks overtook the trees, reflecting in the lake to invade every crevasse of sight. A fog rose to obscure the black, like the clouds the moon. But knowing what was truly underneath horrified Harry until all he could feel was despair.

Yeah, he knew the Patronus charm… but what was the point? He could never take down over a hundred dementors… He was a pathetic third-year wizard… There was no hope. He hadn’t had any time to realise the situation before diving headfirst into the waters, and now he was drowning in misery.

He stumbled to reach Sirius, but ended up kneeling beside him.  The dementors flooded into any open area surrounding the two wizards. All Harry could see was darkness, the black blocking his vision. A white, scaly hand reached out before him and he felt as though he would collapse. His life was flashing before his eyes-- his parents, the Dursleys, the mysterious boy who he could never have… With that thought, he felt an intense burning in his chest, opening his eyes wide and bringing him back to reality.

He fumbled for his wand and realised he was now in possession of not one, but four of them. This could backfire  _ very _ badly, he thought. 

He didn’t have to think of a memory, for it was brought to the forefront of his mind immediately. He didn't have time to feel embarrassed. The warmth, the happiness he had felt in the medical wing following the dementor attack at his Quidditch game… “Expecto…” the affection, the belonging, the care, “PATRONUM!”

A silvery wave of light erupted from all four wands, forcing Harry back with the intensity. It permeated throughout the night, blinding through the black the dementors had created. He thought he saw some sort of silvery bird soaring through the night, but it flew so quickly he went cross-eyed. The dew of the grass caught the light and threw it back at his eyes, the lake so shimmery it matched the bright white sky. 

The chill withdrew its icy grip.

Sirius collapsed, panting, but still very much alive.

“Sirius! Are you okay?” said Harry breathlessly, crawling over to him.

“Ha… Yeah... I--” Sirius attempted to clear his throat. “I just thought I’d be rid of those damn things already.” He smiled weakly.

Harry stood. “We should get you up to the hospital wing.”

Sirius coughed. “I’m not the one that just took down a hundred dementors with a single patronus, Harry.” He tried laughing but started coughing again.

Harry smiled sheepishly. “Can you stand?” He reached out a hand to Sirius.

“‘course I can.” He took it and almost instantly fell over. Harry caught him, and Sirius redistributed his weight to lean on Harry.

“Ugh-- you’re heavy.”

Sirius grinned. “Little old skin and bones me, heavy?” 

“I do Quidditch, not weight lifting,” Harry said with an exasperated smile.

They stumbled back to the castle grounds, where a small group was now surrounding where Pettigrew, Snape, and Ron had laid. As they drew closer, Harry could make out Hermione, Professor Dumbledore, McGonagall, Snape and who he could only assume were Ministry wizards. 

“That’s Sirius Black! Harry Potter-- step away from that mad man!” That was… the Minister of Magic?!

Dumbledore responded calmly. “Cornelius, I highly doubt everything is as it seems. Why, you’re standing right over the unconscious body of Peter Pettigrew, are you not?”

“I saw what Black did with my own eyes--”

“He’s innocent--” Hermione stepped in.

A sneering voice that could only belong to one person spoke. “I believe Black has Confunded these children.” 

“You’re wrong--”

“Severus, please put aside your school day memories and focus on the facts of the situation--” a prudent, female voice said.

“The fact is we are allowing a deranged murderer to put The Boy Who Lived in harm’s path--” insisted Fudge.   


“He’s  _ not _ a deranged murderer!” Harry yelled.

A silence followed.

“Where are the dementors? Shouldn’t they have come after Black by now?” Fudge seemed to ignore what Harry had said.

“They’re gone. I took care of them-- they only went after him when he was protecting us.”

“I believe that must have been a very strong Confundus-- wherever did Black get a wand--”

Harry made eye contact with Dumbledore. “It was Professor Lupin. He forgot to take his potion because he knew Pettigrew was here and he ran after him. He was only trying to protect us too.”

“A werewolf should have never been hired to begin with.” Only Fudge was shocked by Snape’s words.

“A werewolf?! Albus, what were you thinking?!”

“Remus Lupin’s slight differences did not influence his ability to teach at Hogwarts. And I’m afraid we are losing view of what the true matter at hand is.”

“He was the best teacher we’ve ever had--” said Hermione defiantly.

Fudge huffed. “I’m going to need to call the aurors--”

“NO!” Everyone went silent once more and turned to Harry. “He’s going to get a fair trial this time and he won’t be going back to Azkaban.”

Fudge looked concerned at him. “Harry, this is the man who might as well have murdered your parents--”

“It was Peter.” Everyone turned their heads to a new voice.

Sirius continued. “Peter sold out James and Lily to Voldemort. He’s been hiding in his unregistered animagus form for twelve years.”

“I’m not even going to humor that ridiculous idea. Pettigrew may be alive, but if he was ever in hiding, it would be because of fear of retribution from the likes of you--”

“Cornelius, considering Mr. Black did not receive an actual trial during the First Wizarding War, wouldn’t it be... advisable to give him one now? I would go so far as to say he has been imprisoned wrongfully all this time, even if he was guilty-- Let the Wizengamot decide.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my beta Archie @dumblepoop.
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr @thelastnero, I'll follow back~
> 
> Thank you for all the kudos, bookmarks and comments so far, it means so much to me~ If you like this, please leave a comment letting me know what you liked. :D


	5. The Ministry, its Municipal, and its Members

“There is no necessity to separate the monarch from the mob; all authority is equally bad.”

-Oscar Wilde

 

The Crouches were, by all appearances, a respectable family at one time. Many die-hard supporters of Bartemius Crouch Senior would argue even today, Crouch was a man deserving of being Minister of Magic, with his aggressive stance against dark magic and his ability to wield justice like an iron hammer. When came the election for Minister of Magic in 1990, Crouch seemed the obvious choice. Albus Dumbledore had been asked repeatedly to take the position, yet he gracefully denied each request. Crouch was the next logical pick, at least until his ambitious, ladder climbing ways caught up with him.

Poor Bartemius Crouch Junior… named after the same father that had neglected him, deceived into becoming a Death Eater in an attempt to gain any sort of belonging and affirmation. It was a shame. And what did his father do? Send the boy off to Azkaban for life. As his sickly mother sobbed, his father showed no remorse. Wizarding Britain noticed and decided that the much more affable Cornelius Fudge would be a more suitable Minister.

Little Barty was thought to have died in Azkaban a criminal’s death. Some say it was the sight of his mother who had risen from her deathbed and his father who had finally taken time away from the Ministry to visit his cell that did him in-- the shock. To the dementors, well, it was just another body. To them, a corpse was a corpse no matter the source.

 

* * *

 

Sirius’ trial was held the next Saturday on July 2nd. Harry, hoping to testify for Sirius, had asked if he could stay at the Burrow in the meantime. His request had been granted. As Saturday morning came around, he couldn’t help but feel nervous about how the trial would turn out. Even with the presence of Pettigrew, Fudge was still absolutely insistent that Sirius was guilty.

Harry now stood beside the Weasley’s fireplace with Ron and Mr. Weasley.

“Don’t worry, Harry. They have to realize he’s innocent-- Hell, he dragged me around on my arse and I’m not even mad at him,” Ron grinned.

“Ronald Bilius Weasley, what did you just say?” Mrs. Weasley’s voice echoed from the kitchen.

“Nothing, mum!”

Mr. Weasley just chuckled. “We’d best be going to the Ministry-- the trial starts in about an hour and believe me, we’ll need it to get signed in and settled. Can’t put all our eggs in one suitcase, can we, Harry?”

“Um, whatever you say, Mr. Weasley.”   
  


* * *

 

 

Harry would never get used to sensation of travelling by floo, and he honestly had no desire to do so. Mr. Weasley had said there was a more muggle-like way of accessing the ministry, but it was much easier to just floo in.

They appeared in a room that if Harry were not a wizard he would have assumed it was a shop devoted to fireplaces. It was circular in shape with fireplaces covering two-thirds of the room’s walls. The other portion of the room held two receptionist desks with a gate in between, leading to a door. One desk had a sign over it that read “Visitors.” Mr. Weasley led Harry to speak to the witch behind that desk.

“Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Name and business, please?”

“Arthur Weasley from the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office to escort Harry Potter, a witness to Sirius Black’s trial.”

The witch pulled out her wand and with a flick, conjured a badge. “Please place this on the front of your robes. Next, you will be subjected to a search and have your wand registered and accounted for. Please walk through the gate into the Atrium.”

The Atrium was much more extravagant than the fireplace room, to say the least. There was a huge fountain dominating the center of the room, reflecting the deep blue ceiling that seemed to glitter.

After being patted down, Harry had to hand over his wand to a gruff looking wizard and received a slip in return.

They stepped through another gate, a large, gilded one, into what Harry thought was an elevator. Wizards didn’t have elevators… did they? The lift wasn’t quite a lift, as it moved both horizontally and vertically, but its purpose was the same. There weren’t as many people as he would have assumed to be in the ministry, but he guessed that was because it was a Saturday morning.

A cold, feminine voice read off each department’s name as they descended. “Level 1, Wizengamot Courtrooms, including Courtrooms 1 through 17.”

“Here we are,” said Mr. Weasley. “Sirius’ trial will be held in Courtroom number five. Now, I can’t go in there with you, but I wish you and Sirius both the best of luck. I’ll be up in my office in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts division on Level 2.”

“Alright.” 

Mr. Weasley patted Harry on the shoulder before leaving for the lift. Harry grasped the heavy iron door handle and entered the courtroom.

 

* * *

 

 

The room was full of chattering wizards, talking as normal, as if there was absolutely nothing wrong with this situation.

Sirius sat in the middle of the room, wrists and ankles chained to the arms and legs of the chair. A panel of about fifty or sixty wizards sat above him in a circular formation. In the very middle was… Professor Dumbledore? On his right sat a woman with short grey hair and a monocle, his left a short woman who looked rather toad-like. Behind him was a tall, elderly man with evenly parted hair and a toothbrush mustache.

Harry glanced around the room, trying to guess as to where he should go, when he caught sight of Professor Lupin who was motioning toward him. He sat on the ground level opposite the stacked benches of the Wizengamot. Harry rushed over to sit beside Lupin and noticed the other inhabitants of their bench: namely, Minister Fudge and, to Harry’s distaste, a very fidgety Peter Pettigrew.

He looked wide-eyed between Pettigrew and Lupin. “Why isn't  _ he _ the one chained up?”

“That,” Lupin murmured, “Is what I’ve been trying to figure out myself. What I’m wondering about more, though, is why he hasn’t tried taking off yet. Peter was never the confrontational sort. It would be best not to start a scene, however.”

“Why is Dumbledore up there?”

“He’s Chief Warlock-- it’s his job to oversee all trials. Especially one so high-profile.”

“So, Sirius should be fine, right? Since it’s Dumbledore?”

“I wish it was that easy, Harry,” Lupin sighed. “Dumbledore just oversees and mediates the trial-- it’s the Wizengamot that decides Sirius’ fate. And given all of the news in the Prophet and other places as of late, it may be a difficult call.”

“But Pettigrew’s alive--”

“And Sirius has been proven ‘guilty’ for 12 years, in everyone else's minds. They’re sooner likely to formulate a story that goes along with the reality they’ve already decided is real than change their own minds. That’s why we have to change them for them.” He gave Harry a meaningful look. “As long as we’re perfectly honest about what has happened and make them see logic, Sirius…  _ might _ have chance.”

Harry took a deep breath. “Okay.”

Lupin squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. “He’ll be alright, Harry.”

“Ahem.” Dumbledore’s voice boomed throughout the room and the idle chatter died down. “If everyone is present and ready to begin?”

A young man on the bottom row who looked as though he had just barely graduated Hogwarts began shuffling papers around and knocked an ink pot off his bench. Everyone stared as he took out his wand and sheepishly summoned it from the ground, putting its pieces back together. 

Dumbledore began again. “This is the criminal hearing of the second of July, 1994 into offenses committed on October 31st, 1981. The defendant, Sirius Orion Black the Third, has been accused of thirteen murders, twelve of which muggle, one of which wizard, as well as breaking the Statute of Secrecy and partaking in Death Eater activities. The events were to have transpired in Godric’s Hollow, England.”

Dumbledore then pulled out a scroll and read off it. “Interrogators: Amelia Susan Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; Bartemius Caspar Crouch, Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation; and Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic.” Harry could not recognize any of those names. 

“Court Scribe: Alexander MacMillian, Personal Assistant to the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation.”

Dumbledore continued reading names and positions off a scroll, and Harry felt as though he was going to fall asleep until he heard his name. “Witnesses for the defense: Harry James Potter and Remus John Lupin. Witnesses for the prosecution: Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Minister of Magic, and Peter Pettigrew. With that, I will pass off questioning to Madam Bones.” He gestured to the woman on his right.

“Let us begin,” she said as she looked down at Sirius from her seat above. “Are you Sirius Orion Black?”

He cleared his throat, “Yes.”

“Do you swear to answer all these questions truthfully?”

“Yes.”

“Where were you the night of October 31st, 1981?”

“That night I had left my own home to visit Peter Pettigrew, as we  _ were _ friends. He was supposed to be in hiding as well as James and Lily, as he was their secret keeper--”

“You’re saying James and Lily Potter made Peter Pettigrew their secret keeper of the house at Godric’s Hollow?”

“Yes, and as I was saying--”

A high-pitched voice that Harry had never heard before interrupted. “Hem, hem-- I believe it is common knowledge that Sirius Black himself was the Potter’s secret keeper and that he was the one who betrayed the secret location to You-Know-Who.”

“James and Lily originally wanted me to become their secret keeper, and even told Dumbledore so, but I had suspicions. The ordeal with Voldemort--” a gasp was heard-- “Had made me paranoid, and I assumed rather incorrectly that if anyone was to be a spy, it would be Remus Lupin, our other friend. I thought Peter would be a much less obvious choice if a Death Eater were to try to guess who James and Lily’s secret keeper was, so I convinced them to change it to Peter.”

“When was this?”

“About a week before Halloween.”

“I see.”

“I have a question for Mr. Black,” the man behind Dumbledore stood.

“Barty Crouch,” Lupin leaned in and whispered to Harry.

Crouch’s deep voice boomed rapidfire, almost like a drill-sergeant’s, but more proper. “How did you escape Azkaban Prison? I am assuming your defense also states that you were, in fact, not a Death Eater. However, I am having difficulty understanding how one could escape without any outside assistance.”

Sirius hesitated, looking around the room until he glanced over at Remus. He paused for a moment, but eventually began speaking again. “I am an unregistered animagus--”

“That--”

“Is illegal!” The toad-like woman finished for Crouch.

“Dolores Umbridge,” Lupin leaned in again.

Sirius inhaled and spoke calmer than Harry had ever heard him speak before. “Well, I was underage when I learned, I couldn’t waltz up to the Ministry and register. We were all animagi, James, Peter and I. James was a stag, Peter a rat, me a dog.” He made direct eye-contact with Umbridge and then Crouch. “I kept my sanity at Azkaban by switching to my animagus form, and when I learned Peter was alive, I regained hope that I could be proven innocent. I escaped through the bars of my cell and swam back to the mainland.”

Madam Bones asked the next question. “And how did you learn Peter Pettigrew was alive?”

“I saw him in a newspaper in his rat form.” Sirius said almost irritably. “The Weasley family had been keeping him as a pet it seems-- they brought him on a vacation they won, and the Prophet covered it. I was able to recognise him by his missing toe that he cut off at the incident with the muggles--”

_ Crash! _

Everyone looked at the young man who had been sitting in the front row, furiously writing with his quill who had just knocked over his ink pot  _ again _ . 

He flushed. “I-I’m sorry!” He summoned it once more and reassembled it, the ink sucking back into its container. “Okay, continue, please--”

Harry wondered what the kid’s deal was. The wizards on the wizengamot hadn’t said a word, but it was obvious that several were getting annoyed by the boy’s mishaps.

“I will ask again; what did happen that night in Godric’s Hollow?” Madam Bones asked.

Umbridge answered. “Oh, didn’t you hear him say it? He visited Pettigrew’s and  _ he never visited the Potter’s _ , despite  _ multiple _ eyewitness accounts--”

“I didn’t finish--” Sirius said quickly. “After I saw that Peter was missing from his home, which he had been told multiple times  _ not _ to leave, and I saw there was no sign of a struggle, I got suspicious. I flew over to James and Lily’s house to find it ransacked and I realised what had happened. I ran in to look around and found Harry alive. I had been appointed Harry’s Godfather in case anything happened to James and Lily. I took Harry out, but was stopped by Rubeus Hagrid who insisted on taking Harry by Dumbledore’s orders.” 

His next words were half muttered under his breath. “Apparently he was to go to his muggle aunt. Now, honestly, if it was  _ my _ decision, he would have stayed with me, because Lily always went on about how much her sister  _ hated _ wizards--”

“Can you confirm this?” Madam Bones turned to Professor Dumbledore.

“Yes, I had informed Hagrid as such. Hagrid told me his account of the night, and it matches what Mr. Black has stated.”

“After that, I went out looking for Peter. I was furious that he had betrayed James and Lily and I was set on killing him. Eventually I found him on a muggle street trying to weasel his way through a crowd. Upon seeing me he started shouting some bollocks like, ‘Why did you betray them?! They trusted you!’” Sirius drawled on sounding as though he were holding in his own laughter. “I was still so blinded by anger I didn’t realise what he was doing, but he cut off his toe and set off a blasting curse that blew up the whole street! I couldn’t find him so I had assumed he blew himself up by accident. I thought the whole thing hilarious at the time and couldn’t stop laughing--” He shook his head, a hand on his mouth.

Umbridge interrupted with a sickly sweet smile. “And that is when you were caught by Minister Fudge I presume?”

“Yes,” he breathed out.

“I see.” She raised her voice. “Could we call the Minister to the witness stand?”

“Most certainly.” Fudge rose and crossed the room to the witness stand.

“What did you see that night, Minister?” 

“Not what Mr. Black says to have happened, that’s for sure! Yes, he was laughing, but he was in hysterics-- yelling it was all his fault! He couldn’t even stop laughing to give a statement, he was completely mad-- those are not the actions of an innocent man. The Black madness, I would say, you know how that family is--”

“My family disowned me, for your information--” Sirius’ voice cut bitterly.

Umbridge tutted irritably. “Please allow the witness to speak, Mr. Black.”

Sirius sulked.

Fudge hmphed. “I brought in Black myself and he was sent straight to Azkaban where he belongs-- Peter Pettigrew barely drew his wand before Black himself set off the Blasting curse, killing all those muggles, I saw it. Why, Pettigrew barely escaped and from my understanding, he has been in hiding for all of these years from the remnants of You Know Who’s supporters-- the ones who got away without a scratch.”

“Thank you, Cornelius-- I believe that is enough. If we could call Mr. Pettigrew to the stand--”

Fudge seemed a bit frantic now, waving his hands wildly as he spoke. “Don’t you interrupt me, Dumbledore! Crouch was there as well-- he agreed that Black had to be sent without trial, he was caught straight in the scene of the crime--”

“And I can now see that was my mistake. I believe everyone would agree,” Crouch’s eyes surveyed the benches,  “That while those who colluded with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named should be punished, we must not let any innocents be caught due to haste. We are in no  _ hurry _ , now, Minister, so please-- no attempts to end the trial prematurely.”

“Then let me finish!”

“By all means, but do not take up all of the Wizengamot’s time, Minister. This trial will go on as long as it needs to, but no longer than that.”

Fudge looked seconds away from throwing a fit, he was so red in the face. Crouch looked across the room blankly at him.

Beside Harry, Lupin seemed baffled. “What in Merlin’s name is going on here…?” He furrowed his brow.

“What do you mean?” said Harry quietly.

“Crouch was the number one reason Sirius went to Azkaban without trial-- he used to be the old head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement back then, but got demoted to head of International Magical Cooperation a few years back. Fudge thought he was a threat because they had both campaigned for Minister. Amelia Bones is the head of Magical Law Enforcement now. Ever since then, Crouch has been focused on getting back on Fudge’s good side.” Lupin shook his head. “They typically agree on everything, from what I’m told. Well, more Crouch is just a brown-noser to everyone above him in the ministry-- he’s just good at hiding it behind his self-righteousness.”

“Then why is he suddenly switching sides?”

“I don’t know, Harry. I suppose we should just be happy it's in our favor, but...” Lupin furrowed his brow.

“But what?”

Before Lupin could speak, they felt rather than heard Fudge sit back in their bench with the force he exhibited. Harry and Lupin exchanged a look.

“Peter Pettigrew to the witness stand, please,” Madam Bones’ voice rang out.

Pettigrew stumbled to his feet, holding his hands, eyes downcast. He shuffled to the stand. There was a murmuring throughout the Wizengamot at the sight of the bedraggled man and Harry couldn’t help but glare at him. He tore his eyes away from Pettigrew long enough to look back up at the wizengamot benches to find someone staring at him-- Crouch.

His eyes shifted away from Harry as soon as Amelia Bones started speaking again.

“Mr. Pettigrew, please give your account of the night of October 31st, 1981.”

“I was at my home, w-when I felt my wards set off-- they were cued into only the P-Potter’s and Dumbledore--”

“That’s a lie--” Sirius interjected. “Remus and I were also put on them--”

“Let Mr. Pettigrew continue,” Umbridge said smugly.

Dumbledore interrupted. “I can confirm what Mr. Black has just said. But do carry on, Mr. Pettigrew. Hopefully, your memory of the incident improves as you speak more of it. I know it often helps me.”

“Yes, yes-- well. The wards were set off… and I thought I was in danger, so I ran before they could get inside. I thought James’ house would be safe… so I went there. Before I could go inside… I heard a commotion on the street. From there I could see… the damage on the Potter’s house. I was going to get help… but then I saw Sirius. I realised he was the traitor, that he betrayed James and Lily, that he,” Pettigrew raised his trembling voice, “Was the one working for the D-Dark Lord. Once he saw me, he attacked me-- killing all the muggles. I was scared, so I transformed into my animagus and ran.

“I had heard he had been arrested, but I was still so scared that the D-Dark Lord’s other followers would come after me… So I kept hidden and lived as a pet to the W-Weasley family.”

“For twelve years, am I correct?” Madam Bones questioned.

“Yes…” 

“Why not seek protection from the ministry? Become part of the Wizards Helping In Peril Spectators?”

“There were spies within the ministry… The Order of the Phoenix knew… but we could not do anything. If I turned myself into the ministry… I would not be safe.”

Harry nudged Lupin. “What’s the Order of the Phoenix?” he whispered.

“An organization led by Dumbledore we were all apart of. Fought against Voldemort and the like.”

Crouch’s voice rumbled. “Tell us who these spies were.”

“S-Some of them have already been caught-- but-- Lucius Malfoy--”

“Has been proven innocent under control of the Imperius Curse,” Umbridge finished.

“He wasn’t under the Imperius-- he supported the Dark Lord--”

Dumbledore stopped him. “I believe we are veering off topic from the main subject of this trial. If Mr. Pettigrew would like to offer information after the trial has concluded, he may contact the Aurors’ Office at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.”

“I have a question for Mr. Pettigrew,” Umbridge announced. “How exactly did you come into contact with Black the second time, on Hogwarts’ grounds?

“I was kidnapped by a girl’s cat… I know it sounds c-crazy, but it was working with Sirius to kidnap me so Sirius could k-kill me. The cat dragged me out onto the grounds, where my owner Ronald Weasley chased me. He eventually caught me, when Sirius attacked. We were dragged into the Shrieking Shack where Sirius had planned to kill us both--”

Harry clenched his fists, snorting. Lupin put a hand on his shoulder.

“I was going to kill Peter and only Peter, not one of Harry’s friends!” interrupted Sirius.

“Harry and his muggleborn friend had chased after Ronald into the Shack… Sirius had been waiting to kill them too, for revenge and to eliminate any witnesses… It was then when he attacked Harry… stole his wand and wrestled him to the ground…  After that, Remus walked in and disarmed everyone… Sirius got off the ground and they… embraced as if nothing had changed… I realised then that Remus had been in on everything from the start, he had helped Sirius get into Hogwarts as well… I don’t blame him, he was always the one closest to Sirius… If ever Sirius had defected to become a Death Eater, Remus would follow.”

The Wizengamot seemed entranced by Pettigrew’s words. Lupin started shaking his head, his hand on his forehead.

“It was then when they used a Confundus charm on Harry to make him think that I was truly the guilty one… Severus Snape had also ran in to help, but they knocked him out… They were about to kill me, when Harry convinced them to take this to trial so Sirius could w-walk free… For that, I owe a life debt to Harry… and hopefully, I will be able to repay it, when he understands how the situation truly occurred.”

Harry felt awful, but Pettigrew’s story almost convinced him for a moment. But he could not have been confounded… no. And Sirius had not attacked him, he was the one to attack Sirius and threaten to kill  _ him _ . Pettigrew just pulled the whole Confundus idea from Snape, who couldn’t get over a childhood grudge. The whole thing left a deep squirming in his stomach. His hands felt a bit clammy.

“They bound me up to Ronald and Remus and dragged me and Snape out... “

Oh no. Here it came. Lupin tensed beside Harry.

“Except something happened. You see… R-Remus is… a werewolf.” There was a murmuring in the Wizengamot. “It was a full moon and he couldn’t stop himself from transforming. Suddenly, he turned on the nearest person… Sirius, and chased him off. I tried to take his wand, but Harry used a full body-bind on me… I don’t blame the boy… He told his girlfriend to go get Dumbledore… for that, I am grateful once more.”

While the majority of the Wizengamot seemed to linger on the matter, discussing it amongst themselves, Crouch interjected. “Is that your entire statement on the matter?”

“I- I think so, yes.”

“Then I believe it is time to have the one and only Harry Potter himself give his recollection of these events.”

Harry gulped. 

Pettigrew exited the witness stand and wobbled over to the bench on the other end of the room.

Harry took a deep breath.

“You’ll be fine, Harry,” whispered Lupin.

He nodded slightly and rose to his feet. He kept his face blank so as to not look nervous before the Wizengamot. When he reached the stand, he felt his skin crawl with the amount of eyes now laid upon him.

Crouch began. “Harry Potter… What is your interpretation of that night in the Shrieking Shack?”

“Much different than Peter Pettigrew’s… sir,” he added at the last moment. “Starting from the beginning, when Hermione and I entered the shack, Ron was sitting on the opposite end of the room, and Sirius shut the door behind us. When Hermione was freaking out, he said something like “Only one will die tonight,” not that he was going to kill everyone in the shack. It was then when I was the one to attack Sirius-- I wasn’t really thinking at the time, but I was still under the impression that he was the one who betrayed my parents. Sirius, well, he didn’t fight back at all, even when I had my wand to his throat.

“It was then that Professor Lupin walked in,” Harry nodded to Lupin. “He did disarm all of us, like Pettigrew said. But we were not confounded. Hermione was flipping out on Lupin because she thought he was working with Sirius to try to murder me or something, because she knew he was a werewolf and hadn’t told anyone. He tried to explain but nobody would listen-- that’s when he gave everyone their wand back.

“Eventually, Sirius explained everything that had happened. Professor Lupin himself had been shocked that Pettigrew was still alive, there was absolutely no way he could have helped Sirius into Hogwarts. There’s no way-- he was helping me all year with additional defense lessons, in case Sirius ever tried attacking me. The next thing that happened was they forced Peter back into his human-form. He tried to convince Lupin that Sirius was framing him, but Lupin wasn’t buying it… That’s when Pettigrew tried to run, but they caught him and chained him up--”

A high-pitched voice from the benches scraped against his ears. “Mr. Potter, your story is wonderfully idealistic, but do you know for a fact you were  _ not _ confounded?”

Harry’s mouth gaped. “Yes, I’m _ sure _ . I know what I saw.”

“But do you have any proof? If you were confounded, you would not know, after all. It is not like a memory charm, where there are gaps in the memories--”

Harry spoke rapidly. “I know what I saw, and Pettigrew’s story doesn’t even make sense from the beginning. Professor Lupin is my friend, he helped me all year-- Sirius, even, told me we could live together since he  _ is _ my Godfather. He protected Hermione and me from Lupin when he transformed, he nearly died to protect us then-- and that’s not including the Dementors--”

“Um, could you please slow down…” A quiet voice from the bottom row spoke. His quill was scratching furiously against the parchment in front of him.

Madam Bones seemed to ignore it. “Dementors?”

“Sirius threw Lupin off eventually, but ended up surrounded by Dementors at the Black Lake. He nearly died-- I nearly died, but I was able to conjure a Patronus--”

“You were able to do a Patronus? Fully corporeal?” Madam Bones said astonished. 

“Yeah, and it was just in time too--”

“Amazing,” she said. “What form did it take?”

“It was a bird, but there were so many dementors, and so much white I couldn't tell what kind--

“You’re only thirteen aren't you? That is some very advanced magic--”

“Madam,” Umbridge began. “ I do not see how his abilities impact this trial whatsoever. The fact that Mr. Potter is only thirteen is far more relevant to the trial. He’s a young and naive boy-- even if he was not confounded, he could just have easily been tricked by both Black and Lupin into trusting them. I question whether we should even take his testimony into consideration, given that he is only a minor, after all.”

“Hey, I’ve probably been--”

“Mr. Potter’s testimony will be treated like any other witness’, for he did experience the situation first-hand when none of us could say the same,” Madam Bones said.

“I concur,” agreed Crouch.

“Well, do you have anything else to say that may offer an…  _ alternate _ viewpoint of the situation, Potter?” said Umbridge. 

“I have full faith in Sirius. I know it may not count for much, but if any of you were there, in my position,” Harry looked across the benches now, trying to make eye contact with as many people as possible, “You would feel the same way. There are some things that just can’t be faked… I’ve been around people intent on deceiving me before, so I know what it’s like, what the signs are… ”

There was a quiet in the courtroom. Crouch broke the silence. “Is that all?”

“Yes.”

Crouch slowly nodded to Harry. “Then I believe it is time to call upon our final witness. Remus Lupin, if you would.”

Harry stepped down and made his way back to his bench where Lupin had stood. His gaze lingered near the court and was drawn to Sirius who had turned his head as far as he could while bound in the chair. Harry had to squint to see the expression on his face. When he saw it though, it was a face of understated happiness, a small smile with sparkling eyes. Given how dramatic Sirius had acted in the little time Harry had known him, it was refreshing. Harry made eye contact and smiled softly in turn. Sirius mouthed a  _ thank you _ . 

Harry brushed shoulders with Lupin as he made to sit for the bench again. 

“Good luck,” Harry whispered.

Lupin stood rather awkwardly in the stand, his formal but slightly outdated clothes in contrast to the prim and proper wizards and witches of the Wizengamot. 

“Remus Lupin… Where do you fall into this story?” Crouch drawled.

At this point, the Wizengamot had become a bit bored of the proceeding. While still maintaining a respectable volume, members talked amongst themselves. Even Harry himself wished the trial could just end already.

“I grew up at Hogwarts with James, Lily, Sirius and Peter. James and Sirius… They were almost the best of friends, it was Peter and I that came later. They were like brothers-- they might as well have been, when Sirius ran away from home. The Potters had adopted Sirius as their own.” Remus spoke fondly of the the past, but his tone then turned. “Sirius was a Black in name and nothing more. When I first came to Hogwarts, I was scared to death of my condition and furthermore ashamed. Dumbledore had done me a great favor allowing me to get my education there-- when Sirius found out, his first reaction wasn't to flee but help me. For that I will be forever grateful. He never gave up on me.

“Peter… while he was our friend… it was more out of pity. He was a Gryffindor, yes, but he wasn't very brave. He got bullied by other houses quite frequently. Us being Gryffindors of course felt the need to protect him, James mostly. Eventually, he just started tagging along with us wherever we went and he integrated himself into our group of friends.

“If anyone were to betray James and Lily, I would have thought both back then and now that it would be Peter.” Remus’ tone turned grave.

“That is a very strong accusation to make,” Madam Bones said.

“But it is the truth. Sirius would never betray James… however, he also looked down upon Peter more than any of us, I'm afraid. He underestimated him. Peter was friends with us because we provided him a sort of safety, a shield from the unsavory bits of Hogwarts. When we went out into the real world… He didn't feel that safety anymore.” He sighed, folding his hands in front of him, then unfolding them to rub his eyes. “When Lord Voldemort targetted James and Lily, Peter knew he would lose the single friend that cared about him the most, which does not say much. Peter would rather be on the winning side than the right side. That is why he has been lying this entire trial.”

“Is that the best evidence you can give? Your statement that he has been lying and nothing else?” Umbridge accused.

“I was hoping you could take into account his history when making your decision. Sirius would never betray his true friends.”

Madam Bones spoke, “Then I suppose it is time for us to make a decision, isn’t it?”

Lupin took his leave from the stand and returned to sit next to Harry. He walked like all the energy had been drained out of his body and sat down with a sigh. 

“You did well, Professor,” Harry patted him on the back.

Lupin smiled, a bit dazed. “Thank you, but I’m not your professor anymore, Harry.”

Harry chuckled. “Sorry… sir.”

“Stop that, now. If Sirius is to be free, and you’re to be living with him, I’ll be visiting too often for all this formality. Call me Remus, at the very least,” he regarded Harry with amusement.

Harry knew what Lupin was trying to do, but the nerves remained. If Sirius was to be sent back to Azkaban… he didn’t know what he would do. He’s already had too many things taken away from in his life as it was, but this was different. He never knew his parents. Tom Riddle was a manipulative psychopath. Sirius? He was hope, a life away from the neglectful Dursleys, a chance at an actual  _ family _ . 

He would be heartbroken if he had to watch Sirius be taken away once more. Sirius didn’t deserve it-- he already spent twelve years of his life surrounded by those soul suckers, and it sounded as though his childhood hadn’t been that great either. Sirius needed this one hope as much as he did.

Dumbledore’s voice quieted the discussion permeating the room, “We will now take a vote to decide the fate of Sirius Black.”

Harry’s stomach lurched.

“All in favor of clearing the accused of all charges?”

Maybe twenty people raised their hands-- definitely less than half. Harry’s eyes widened and a cold sense of dread overcame him, almost like a dementor had just entered the room.

“All in favor of conviction?”

Harry couldn’t count the amount of people who raised their hands, but… it was more or less the same as before. And some parts of the room hadn’t raised their hand at all.

What was going on?

“It appears we have not reached a majority conclusion. A written vote will now take place. If you wish to abstain, please indicate as such on the parchment presented to you--” Dumbledore flicked his wand and small strips of parchment flew through the air to each seat of the Wizengamot.

“However, I will advise you this: abstaining is as good and as bad as letting a crime be committed before your very eyes and doing nothing to prevent or punish it.”

Harry took a deep breath, watching the wizards and witches before him scribble on their pieces of parchment.

“The Court Scribe will perform the count. Please wait a moment while the votes are tallied.”

Each slip of parchment flew over to the young man on the bottom row who had had such a difficult time during the procession. He carefully moved his notes and ink pot to his right, pulled out a small notepad, and began jotting the tally.

Each second that passed, Harry’s anxiety swelled and he sweat more and more in his seat. He had no way of seeing the count from his position-- those in the benches could look down and see where the count was at at any given moment. For a moment, Harry forgot how to breathe, imagining Sirius getting the worst possible conviction. What it would be like if he was sentenced to the Dementor's Kiss-- would it happen in front of them? Harry wouldn't be able to watch it, he had already almost seen it happen once…

“Sir,” a soft voice broke the silence, “I have the final count.” 

“And the verdict is?”

Realising he had to speak up and announce it himself, the young man seemed to freeze, but caught himself. He raised his voice for the entire room to hear. “Um-- the final verdict of Sirius Black’s trial is… innocent of all charges.”

Harry released the breath he didn’t realise he was holding.

“What?!” The bench moved with the force in which Fudge stood from it. Pettigrew was trembling on the very end, past Fudge.

“Please sit down, Minister--”

“Don’t tell me to sit down, Dumbledore-- you think you run this? I demand a recount, one that isn’t done by Crouch’s little  _ lackee--  _ I have full faith in the witches and wizards of the Wizengamot and they would not proclaim this man innocent--”

The aforementioned boy spoke. “It was close s-sir, but it was 22 - 19 votes, and 18 people also abstained--”

“There will be a recount--!”

Crouch interjected. “If you hold such reservations towards me and the way I do things, Minister, I will do the count right now for everyone to see. If you are going to act like a child, I suppose I should count out the numbers for you like one as well, shouldn’t I?” 

He did  _ not _ .

Fudge refused to stand down. The amusement in the air was palpable and Harry couldn’t resist feeling smug. 

“Mr. MacMillan, the votes, if you will.” 

“Yessir.” With a flick of his wand the slips of parchment flew to Crouch. All eyes were on him.

Crouch levitated each slip into a corresponding section of the air in front of him, counting the vote for all to see. Each slip into the innocent section, Fudge clenched his fists even tighter. If the situation wasn’t so serious, Harry might have broken out laughing.

When levitated into rows and columns, it was easy to see the innocent votes outweighed the guilty. Sirius who had stood stiff in the center of the room had considerably relaxed at the sight of the votes.

“That cannot be possible--”

“But it is, Minister,” said Crouch.

“Your boy tampered with the slips, he did--”

Madam Bones stepped in. “Minister, we were all watching him do the count and the boy did not pull out his wand once. Please, pull yourself together. This trial is over, and Sirius Black is free.”

Dumbledore took over from there. “I believe we have another matter we must concern ourselves with now, with the proven innocence of Mr. Black-- and that is the fate of Mr. Pettigrew, who appears to have vanished from thin air.”

Harry’s head jerked to where Pettigrew had sat, but he was gone.

“The Ministry may not be disapparated from and the door had been locked as a precaution. Do not be alarmed-- Mr. Pettigrew must still be in this room. I believe this does prove, Cornelius, Sirius Black’s innocence. An innocent man would have no reason to hide now,” Dumbledore gave Fudge a knowing look.

With a quick Homenum Revelio charm, Pettigrew was found. Some Aurors from the third floor were called in and Pettigrew was taken to the dungeons. Harry didn’t know if he was to get a trial, but he definitely knew he didn’t want to take part in another trial for a long time.

“Sirius!” Harry ran to hug his Godfather as he was finally unshackled. Remus stood to one side, smiling at the gesture.

“Harry, thank you so much-- and you too, Remus-- I don’t know what I would have done without you two,” he grinned. He then looked directly at Harry. “Now, why don’t you and I go home?”

Harry couldn’t help but smile in return.

 

* * *

 

Bertha couldn't quite remember why she had decided to take a vacation to Albania, but it was the season for it after all. She just knew she wanted to get out of wizarding Britain for a little while. With all the preparations for the upcoming World Cup and later, the Triwizard Tournament, she had been busier than ever at her job in the Department of Magical Games and Sports. She did have family in Albania too, but where was the fun in staying with family all summer? She wanted excitement, a retreat away from the realm of grind and normalcy she had left behind in London. She couldn't quite remember the date of the World Cup, but she knew she had to be back by then at the very least. Oh well. She’d figure it out as she went along.

Currently, she was staying at a very… rustic inn in the countryside. Compared to the village’s native residents, she expected she stood out amongst them. Had they never heard of fashion or jewelry? She herself was a witch devoted very much to the art of appearances. 

If the native residents ever wanted to stay clear of their strange foreign visitor, all they had to do was listen for the jingling of metals and a nasal voice asking what the local gossip was. It was her last night at the inn before leaving for her second cousin's house when she decided to sample the inn’s wine.

She stumbled outside to admire the moonlight and the waving trees. “Mm… Not bad… I’ve had,” she hiccuped, “Stronger.”

All of the villagers had gone home for the night, either by their own initiative or upon hearing Bertha’s drunken shenanigans.

A pure white squirrel scurried underneath the tree beside the inn.

“Ha-- look at that!” she said to no one in particular.  “An albino squirrel... Aren't you adorable?” Bertha bent her knees and stooped down to look closer at the squirrel. “Imagine a scarf of that.”

The squirrel stood right at the base of the tree, unmoving, watching Bertha.

“Come here sweetie,” she reached a hand out.

The squirrel’s red eyes flicked up and down at the hand, its little nose scrunching up. It inched close enough for her to reach out her fingers to stroke its head.

“Aww, you're so pwecious… Used to humans aren't you?” she started baby-talking it.

A gold, jeweled bracelet dangled over the squirrel’s head, clinking against the bracelet behind it as she petted the squirrel. The squirrel shot up, snatched the bracelet off her wrist and into its mouth, and scampered away.

Bertha gasped. “Why you--” 

She dashed after the squirrel, deep into the woods, but had to stop to pant. “I… should not… have to run after… vermin…” Her heels were pinching her feet, and she wished she had taken up her coworker’s offer to get her into better shape.

The squirrel had climbed up a tree above Bertha, staring with its beady red eyes down at her. 

“Give that back! I paid 15 galleons for that bracelet!” she glared at the squirrel. Her dull blue eyes met the squirrel’s in a fierce staring contest. She would not let an  _ animal _ get the best of her.

She couldn't bring her eyes away from the squirrel’s no matter what. She would win… she would win… she would tell it everything… The events of the past few months flew through her mind, as if someone were raking sharp claws through the folds of her brain to dissect it.

 

_ “Here’s your room key, Miss, enjoy your stay--” _

_ “The Quidditch World Cup will be held on August 20th, make sure to be back by then, Miss Jorkins--” _

_ “Those are the loveliest shoes--” _

_ “Miss Jorkins, would you fetch the Goblet of Fire from the Department of Mysteries--” _

_ “The Department of Magical Games and Sports will be handling the Triwizard Tournament this year, to be hosted at Hogwarts. Durmstrang and Beauxbatons will be invited--” _

_ “I’m sorry Bertha, but you’re too much of a liability in this department. You understand, don’t you darling? We’ll transfer you over to Games and Sports, I think you’ll have any easier time there--” _

_ “Obliviate!” _

_ “Winky has told Master Crouch it is what the Mistress would have wanted for her son before the Mistress’ death, that he always wanted to attend the World Cup, and Winky was successful--” _

 

Bertha Jorkins felt her eyes roll to the back of her head, her body trembling.

The squirrel dropped dead out of the tree. Its pink eyes did not blink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Archie @dumblepoop for beta-ing.
> 
> Follow me on tumblr @thelastnero.
> 
> Comments are the blood to my veins.


	6. What Lies Underneath

_“The best weapon against an enemy is another enemy.”_  
_-Friedrich Nietzsche_

 

Thousands of kilometers away, a boy stirred in his bed. Never before had the visions the night had bestowed upon him ever been so… vivid. His scar burned and he clutched his forehead.

 

* * *

 

The yew tree has long had an association with death. They can live thousands of years and are frequently planted in graveyards to stand upright for generations on end. Often, it is difficult to tell their true age, as yews tend to hollow as they grow older. A family may have sat and had a picnic under the same yew tree that their great-great grandparents had, and their own great-great grandchildren may have the same experience under the very same tree. Care must be taken that the yew tree’s needles do not fall into the food, however, for they are lethal if ingested by humans. There is no known antidote.

The muggles maintained their distance from the death tree. In a few decades, it would be discovered that the very reason why it inspires death, it could prevent it.

Godric’s Hollow was a quaint village in the West Country of England, with little to draw the eye except its rather eccentric inhabitants. They were nice enough, however, so their much more ordinary neighbors never had issue to complain.

What drew most people’s interest, however, was St. Jerome’s Church and, consequently, its graveyard. Many of the graveyard’s residents dated back centuries, back to when the old church was so fresh and new, the yews beside it were ancient in comparison. Nowadays, many make the mistake to assume the trees were planted the very same day construction of the church began. It is, after all, incorrect to assume the yew follows death. It simply attracts it.

A new memorial had been erected twelve and a half years ago in small Godric’s Hollow, in the very center of the village. To to average citizen, it appeared an obelisk in honor of those spirits who passed in the second world war. To their more eccentric neighbors, a young family of three was honored.

The town center was quiet that July morning, with only the footsteps of a growing teenager and his godfather sounding on the brick road. The sun’s rays were pleasantly warm and the trees gently swayed.

The pair made their way down Church Lane, to the church and its graveyard. They walked the rows of those departed until they came upon one particular headstone in white marble.

 

Lily Anne Potter nee Evans     James Fleamont Potter  
b. 30/1/1960                          b. 27/3/1960  
d. 31/10/1981  
The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death.

 

The grass had worn to dirt in front of the grave. A few vases adorned the plot of land, with flowers that were as ageless as the the yews towering over the graveyard.

The man conjured a bouquet of lilies out of the placid air and placed it on the grave. The teenager simply sat cross-legged on the ground. The man followed.

He couldn’t bring himself to cry, but that did not prevent him from thinking of what could have been, despite his gratefulness for what he had now.

The man rubbed the teen’s back as he ran circles through his own mind. While they were at a stand-still, life went on without them. The cicadas sang in the distance, seemingly far beyond the glowing sunrise. A squirrel scurried across a branch above them, causing the yew’s broad, leaf-like needles to fall to the ground. Two waxwings, their plumage amplified by the light of dawn, hopped on the same yew, passing one of its red berries back and forth between themselves, until one finally consumed it. The flutter of their wings as they flew away together broke through the tree’s leaves in a swooping sound that seemed to shush the air.

“Harry?”

“Yes?”

“Happy Birthday. Your parents would have been proud of you.”

 

* * *

 

 

Sirius’ house in Godric’s Hollow was a bit small, but that would be expected of a bachelor pad built for a wizard that didn’t need most of the amenities found in a muggle family home. Harry didn’t care though-- it was the first true home he’d ever had. Harry took the single bedroom reluctantly while Sirius slept on the couch. Sirius had said he’d go looking for a larger house once Harry went back to Hogwarts, and hopefully have it ready by the time he came back for winter break.

They fell into an easy routine over the month following the trial, dividing up household chores, for which Harry was extremely grateful. Sirius had been furious upon learning what had happened at the Dursley’s. Some of his anger rubbed off on Harry, and he found himself a bit annoyed with Dumbledore for placing him there in the first place.

However, he was also determined not to think of the past any longer. He had a new family now, and that was all that mattered.

There was some backlash succeeding Sirius’ trial, but not in the way they had expected. Somehow, word had gotten out about the Minister’s literal fit and his popularity was now at an all time low. While some people had asked him to step down, he vehemently refused, and the situation was left alone. That didn’t stop the Daily Prophet’s conspiracy theories, however.

Their first time going out in public together was interesting, to say the least. Sirius had needed a new wand, new clothes and the basic necessities for a household to function. They also needed to go get Harry’s school supplies and books for the upcoming year. Now, Harry was used to a certain amount of looks being cast his way, but with Sirius? It was like their combination of fame and infamy had combined into a dreadful lovechild that equaled the sway of the muggle Queen of England. Crowds seemed to part for them and, while it was extremely disconcerting to Harry, Sirius seemed to thrive on the attention.

At Gringotts, they also came across some news. Apparently, Sirius was the owner of another house without even knowing it. Sirius had said it was his childhood home and he didn’t have many good memories there, but admitted it would be more practical to live there than his one-bedroom flat in Godric’s Hollow. They decided to go check it out after they finished their shopping for the day.

While in Madam Malkins, as Sirius was being fitted for robes, Harry caught a much younger boy gaping like a fish between them both. When he raised an eyebrow, the boy blubbered out, “You’re Harry Potter! And-- and that’s Sirius Black!”

Harry slowly nodded.

“You’re--” The boy ran out of the room and came back dragging an older woman who seemed to have been in the middle of changing. She held the side of her robe over her chest defensively.

“Liam, what is--”

“Look!”

They both stood there, wide-eyed as if Harry and Sirius themselves were the ones half-naked.

Harry gave Sirius an exasperated look, but he just grinned, his eyes alight.

* * *

 

 

When they returned home to drop off their purchases, an owl was waiting for them on the windowsill.

“Hey, that’s the Weasley’s owl,” said Harry. He reached for it and untied the letter from its leg. “It’s addressed to the both of us.”

Sirius looked like he was about to drown under the amount of bags he carried. “Go ahead and open it without me-- I’m going to take these bags in really quick and then you can fill me in.”

Harry unrolled the parchment.

_Dear Harry and Sirius,_

_We hope you two are settling in well! If you ever need any help, you know you can always come to us for anything._

_As you may have heard, the Quidditch World Cup is being hosted in Britain for the first time in over 30 years! It’s being held Monday the 15th, and Arthur has been able to secure prime tickets through his connections with the Department of Magical Games and Sports. We would love to invite you both to come with us._

_This is really a once in a lifetime opportunity and we would love to share it with you two, as the tickets are so difficult to come by. Please send your response by owl as soon as possible!_

_Hoping to see you soon,_

_Molly Weasley_

Harry brought the owl inside, grabbed a quill from the kitchen and wrote a quick reply back, accepting the invitation for the both him and Sirius. He was feeding the owl a treat before sending it off, when Sirius came back down from the loft.

“So what was that about?”

“Oh, they were inviting us to go the Quidditch World Cup with them-- already wrote that we would come, just sending Errol off now.”

Sirius’ eyes lit up. “You know, I never got the chance to go to one of those… My parents absolutely hated Quidditch, so they wouldn’t take me abroad.”

Harry grimaced a bit. “Well, at least we can go now! And we’ll be with the Weasleys, so we won’t have to deal with people like your parents.”

Sirius smiled and shook his head. “Typically, you need a few connections to get tickets. That, or more money than you know what to do with-- both categories tend to attract certain types of people, I’d say. Anyways, send him off and I’ll take you to my old family home so we can check it out.”

Harry tied his letter to Errol’s foot and he flew off through the window. Harry then turned to Sirius.

“Now, have you ever apparated with someone before, Harry?”

“Nope.”

“Well, you might get a bit nauseous-- if you’re going to throw up, please do it in the direction away from me. Now, are you ready?” Sirius held out his hand. Harry grasped it and felt himself falling through the air, only stabilized by the deep pull in his navel. Their surroundings blurred around them until they reappeared in a very dusty living room.

“Oh dear,” said Sirius. “Looks like someone hasn’t been doing their job.” He turned to Harry. “You alright?”

It took a few seconds for the room to stop spinning for Harry. “Uh-- Yeah. I’m good,” He looked around. “What happened to this place?”

“Mmm, magical homes tend to deteriorate much quicker than muggle homes, from my understanding. Too many magical creatures and artifacts roaming about, I suppose. We did have a house elf to take care of things, once upon a time, the dreadful little thing, but who knows what he got up to when my mother and brother died.” Sirius must have inhaled something in the air, for he broke out coughing a second after speaking. “Obviously not dusting.”

While dusty, the room was obviously beautiful at one point in time, with its antique furniture and ornate artwork on the panelled walls. Harry thought he saw movement out of the corner of his eye, and he jerked his head in its direction.

“I… think I just saw something move, Sirius…”

Sirius was unfazed, looking around the room. “Probably one of the paintings. Many of my family had moving portraits done. I’m hoping my mother didn’t have the foresight.”

“What was she like?”

“Absolute devil. Pureblood supremacist, worse than what you’ve told me about the Malfoys. Of course, I tried my hardest to rebel,” with that Sirius smirked. “Eventually, I couldn’t stand it and I ran to the Potters. I was disowned from that moment forward.”

“And you still got the house?”

“Patriarchy rules, I suppose. I was the eldest son, so my brother-- the perfect pureblood death-eater he was-- didn’t have any claim on it. He’s dead anyways, now, so I guess it doesn’t matter.” Sirius sighed. The mood had sobered a bit, but he tried to turn it around quickly. “Well, let’s take a look around. Maybe we can find Kreacher-- the house elf-- and get him to make this place look somewhat livable. He hated me, but he is supposed to serve all Blacks.”

Sirius stepped into the hall and stopped, causing Harry to crash into him.

“What is it?” Harry peeked around Sirius’ shoulder and his eyes widened.

“I think we’ll be needing more than the help of a house elf for this.”

Harry looked over his shoulder and his eyes grew to the size of saucers.

* * *

 

 

They decided to ask the Weasleys for assistance when they visited for the Quidditch World Cup. Grimmauld Place was a wreck, but salvageable. They’d need time more than anything.

It was refreshing to look forward to something else during the summer besides going to Hogwarts for once. Monday morning creeped around the corner and Harry had woken up far earlier than he needed to. He contemplated waking Sirius up but decided against it.

He made eggs and pancakes in their tiny little kitchen. It was phenomenally easier to cook now with magic. Technically, he still couldn't perform spells out of school but living with an adult wizard had its advantages. Sirius had said early on he didn't care if Harry used magic when they were at home.

Either the smell or the clatter of dishes and pans must have woken Sirius, as he strolled in once Harry began putting food on plates.

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and chuckled. “You know you don't have to cook every morning, Harry.”

“Ah, sorry. Habit,” Harry flushed.

“I’m not scolding you for it, I'm just telling you. I’d ask if you were excited for today but considering how early you must have woken up, I think my question is answered,” said Sirius with a grin.

Harry couldn’t help but smile back.

 

* * *

 

After breakfast, they both flooed over to the Burrow to find themselves a bit early. The Weasleys were still finishing up their breakfast around the table when Harry and Sirius came through the fireplace. Mrs. Weasley instantly fussed over them both, inviting them into the dining room.

“It’s alright, we already ate--”

“Are you sure? You’re awful skinny, Harry-- not that Sirius hasn’t been feeding you, I’m sure he does, but you could stand to gain some more weight--”

“I’m fine,” said Harry with a laugh.

“Well, come sit and you can grab a plate anyways--” She pulled out two chairs for Harry and Sirius between Ron and Bill. All of the other Weasleys were lined down the table, including Charlie and Percy, who was writing frantically on a roll of parchment.

“Please Harry, anything to get mum to settle down or she’ll be asking you all morning if you’re hungry,” said Ron.

Harry shook his head, smiling, and sat. Sirius followed.

“You know, even being grown as I am, it’s nice having _someone_ fuss over me once in awhile. Quite refreshing actually.”

Harry snorted. “Yes, dementors aren’t really the type to wear aprons and bake biscuits, are they?”

“Not with that attitude, we’d say,” said Fred from across the table.

“Taffy?” asked George, who then leaned over the table, wrapped candy in hand.

“Don’t eat it, Harry,” said Ginny from next to Bill. “They’ve been up to something all summer, and when they finally came out of that room of theirs, they suddenly had more candy than they knew what to do with.”

“Gin--ny,” the twins whined in unison.

“I’d rather not be embarrassed before we even get to the World Cup,” Harry laughed.

“You’ll have plenty of time for that when Ireland loses,” teased Ron.

Charlie spoke up from across the table. “Hey, Bulgaria may have Krum, but Ireland has a full team of good players-- Krum can’t beat that.”

“Everyone knows the seeker wins the game for everyone-- right Harry?”

“Sorry, Ron-- I’m with Charlie on this,” Harry grinned.

Ron humphed. “I get no support in this house.”

On the other end of the table, Harry caught a name that drew his attention.

“I’ve told Mr. Crouch I’ll have it done by Tuesday-- much earlier than he would have ever expected,” said Percy haughtily. “His personal assistant had quite a gaff recently, and I’m hoping to fill his position soon. Sirius’ trial was a mess, to be perfectly honest, with no small part of that due to Fudge. Why, Mr. Crouch himself has called for him to step down, and I agree wholeheartedly with that decision.”

Mr. Weasley looked like he was deep in thought. “I agree that Fudge may not be the most… proactive Minister we’ve ever had, but he has done some useful things. The fact he’s the first Minister ever to speak with the muggle Minister is progress if I ever saw it. Besides, I don’t know who would be there to replace Fudge if he did step down.”

“I know for a fact Mr. Crouch still regrets the day he didn’t become Minister and quite frankly, I think we need someone like him in that position. Fudge is far too soft.”

“Why don’t you just marry him already, Percy?” joked Ron.

Percy’s face reddened. “Penelope and I are very happy together, Ronald. I don’t need to want to marry my superior to respect him and acknowledge the great work he’s done--”

“So, how about those cauldron regulations, Percy?” interrupted Mr. Weasley.

Percy seemed relieved at the change in topic. “They’re a mess, but once I finish this report, the issue will be fixed. Mr. Crouch should be very pleased with it. With the World Cup and that secret project he’s been working on with the Department of Magical Sports and Games, he’s been busier than ever and can suffer no mistakes. Sadly, Ludo Bagman isn’t being of as much help as Mr. Crouch was hoping.”

Mr. Weasley shrugged. “I like Ludo. He’s the one who got us all these tickets. All I had to do was smooth over a slight issue of his with a magical lawnmower…”

“I suppose he’s an alright enough person, but he’s not very competent. Then again, you don’t have to be competent to work in the Department of Magical Sports and Games-- I mean, look at Bertha Jorkins. She used to be in our department until Mr. Crouch had the sense to transfer her. From what I hear, he was quite fond of her, but eventually he had to let her go.”

“You know, I actually haven’t seen Bertha lately. Nice woman, but a bit of a gossip.”

“I believe she just returned from an extended holiday to Albania. Came back just in time to help out with the World Cup. I suppose she couldn’t get out of that. The Department of Magical Sports and Games also needs all the wizards and witches it can get to help out with the big event in the next coming months. You know the one I’m talking about, Father,” Percy’s eyes shifted around the table. “The top-secret one?”

A chord was struck within Harry, a strong sense of deja-vu.

“Ah, yes.”

Harry hesitated before speaking. “You mean that tournament with the other schools?”

Percy and Arthur’s heads instantly turned toward Harry.

“Tournament?” said Ron.

Mr. Weasley looked at Harry curiously. “How did you know about that, Harry?”

He couldn’t very well say what he saw in his dream, they’d say he’d gone mad. Harry himself didn’t understand what exactly he had seen. “I… thought I heard someone mention it at the Ministry after Sirius’ trial. I didn’t know it was a secret. That’s all I heard though, that the other wizarding schools in Europe are being invited.”

Percy shook his head. “Blabbermouths, can’t keep a secret...”

“Sad you don’t have any secret information to hold over us now, Mr. ‘I’m Going to be the Youngest Minister of Magic in History’?” said either Fred or George. They both laughed.

“I do not hold information above anyone’s head, I was simply having a mature conversation about work with our father--”

“Now, now, that’s enough. Today’s going to a fun, happy day! No fighting allowed-- and none of those Wizarding Wheezes, or pranks, or whatever you’re calling them, you two,” scolded Mrs. Weasley.

Mr. Weasley looked at his wristwatch. “I think we’d best be getting to the portkey soon, if we don’t want to miss anything.”

 

* * *

 

 

While Bill, Charlie and Percy were going to apparate, the rest of the Weasleys, Harry, and Sirius took the portkey. They met both Amos and Cedric Diggory at the portkey site before taking off.

They all arrived on a barren moor instantaneously. Two men, very ridiculously dressed in muggle clothes took their portkey and signed them all in. The two groups split from that point to their own respective tents.

It took a while to settle in, with the Weasleys having no idea how to set up their tents, light a fire like a muggle, and eventually cook like muggles. While lunch was being made, the younger teenagers strolled about the campgrounds just looking at all the other tents set up. They returned to the Weasley tent around noon. Eventually Bill, Charlie and Percy showed up.

“Just in time for lunch, you three,” said Mrs. Weasley.

A picnic was set up outside the tent. Halfway through lunch, Mr. Weasley rose and waved someone over. “Aha! The man of the hour, Ludo!”

Ludo Bagman was probably the most flamboyantly dressed wizard in the entire campground. He was wearing some sort of nightgown with quidditch robes over it. His personality was just as flamboyant and energetic to match.

He and Mr. Weasley made small talk and the kids were introduced to Ludo. Percy in particular seemed to drop any of his negative opinions he had spoken of in order to make a good impression.

Upon being introduced to just a ‘Harry’, Ludo’s eyes sparkled. “Harry Potter, isn’t it? And your godfather, Sirius Black?”

Sirius smiled. “You’d be correct. Good to meet you.”

“And you too. Shame that mess with your trial, an absolute embarrassment that was. As much as I’d love to stay, I have someone to track down-- actually, two someones. Bertha seems to have gotten lost in the confusion, the poor woman. On top of that, my Bulgarian equivalent speaks well… Bulgarian, and I can’t understand a word he’s saying. Barty’d be able to sort that out, I reckon, if I could find him.”

Percy replied. “Of course Mr. Crouch would be able to help, he can speak over 200 languages! And that’s not including the different dialects in Mermish, Gobbledegook, and Troll…”

“I think anyone can speak Troll, Percy, all you have to do is point and grunt--” Fred demonstrated.

Percy huffed and stabbed at the campfire with a poker.

“Ha, your family is full of jokesters, Arthur,” Ludo slapped Mr. Weasley on the back. “Anyhow, I’m off!”

As soon as Ludo had apparated away, someone new had apparated right at their campfire.

Harry recognized him to be Crouch, with his curtain parted hair and uptight stature. Harry couldn’t stop himself from speaking. “I think you just missed him.”

Crouch turned to Harry. “Ludo was just here?” Feeling all eyes on him, Harry nodded awkwardly. Crouch frowned.

Percy was quick to intervene. “Mr. Crouch! Would you like some tea?”

Crouch looked surprised to see him. “Ah yes, thank you, Mr. Weatherby.”

The twins took great pains to stifle their laughter as Percy flushed and brought a tea kettle over the fire.

“Oh, and Arthur?” spoke Crouch. “Ali Bashir is stirring the dust again regarding your embargo on flying carpets and I believe he’s going to want to speak to you later this afternoon.”

“Here’s your tea, sir,” said Percy, handing Crouch a cup.

“Thank you.”

Mr. Weasley continued their earlier conversation. “For Merlin’s sake, I’ve sent Bashir several owls already-- carpets are classified as muggle objects for a reason. Will he ever listen?”

“I believe he’s more concerned with getting British exports than upholding the law. Speaking of such…” Crouch turned toward Harry. “Could I have a word with you, Mr. Potter?”

Harry raised an eyebrow in confusion.

Sirius who had been sitting near Harry had narrowed his eyes at Crouch, “Something you can’t say in front of everyone else, Crouch?”

Crouch didn’t seem to take any offense, and kept a stern face. “It is not a matter of whether I can or cannot, but a matter of whether I wish to. I would simply like to offer Mr. Potter a potential job prospect in the ministry, if he so desires. It would be inappropriate to discuss such details in front of other people.”

To say Harry was surprised would be putting it mildly. Why on earth would _Crouch_ be offering _him_ a job when he’s _14_? “Uh… Alright.” He followed Crouch a distance away from the tent where they wouldn't be overheard. Over Crouch’s shoulder, he could see the Weasleys awkwardly trying to make small talk.

Harry felt extremely out of place around Crouch. It wasn’t that he was particularly intimidating, it was just that he demanded a sort of respect that was different from what Harry had experienced before. With Dumbledore, it felt natural. Around Snape or even Fudge, he didn’t feel any need to be respectful whatsoever. In contrast, McGonagall demanded respect and she got it. Crouch? Harry had no idea how to approach him.

Maybe he just needed to be _careful_ around Crouch, he decided.

Harry spoke cautiously. “Did you really want to talk to me about a job or... something else?”

“It is a job of a sort. Of course, you are too young to work as you are in school, but I that does not mean you could not benefit from… a trade. I would not normally offer this to someone so young, but given your delicate situation, I feel it is suitable.”

“My situation?” Harry frowned.

“Mr. Potter, I do not think you realise how much sway you hold. At one time, people viewed you as a savior of the wizarding world and rightly so. Recently, you have seen for yourself the very state of the ministry as it is now,” Crouch stared down at Harry. “Your testimony at Sirius Black’s trial is just testament to the corruption now present in the Ministry.”

“Uh, excuse me? I--”

“Not for the reasons you may believe. That trial should have happened a long time ago, yet never did. The corruption I speak of… is Cornelius Fudge’s very administration. From my understanding, you yourself have experienced the very brunt of his selfishness and unlawfulness. I do not take much stock in rumors, but his attitude at the trial confirms to me that he has been taking advice from Dumbledore his entire office. He is now convinced Dumbledore is turning against him and responded most… ungraciously.”

Harry thought back to all the times Dumbledore had been absent from Hogwarts on what he called ‘ministry business.’

“Your testimony at Sirius’ trial, emotional may it have been, reminded the Wizengamot of who you truly are-- the boy who defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. That still means a large deal to many families. With that knowledge, I would like to offer you something in return for your... help.”

“Mr. Crouch, I don’t know what you could possibly expect from me, to be perfectly honest. I’m just a kid.”

“Maybe so, but you are not young enough as to where your opinion means nothing to the public. The trial revealed as much,” Crouch looked off in the distance, as if contemplating something. “Tell me, Mr. Potter, do you agree with Minister Fudge’s actions at Black’s trial?”

Harry snorted. “Well of course not. He took one little thing he saw and spun it out of proportion just because he didn’t want to admit he was wrong--” he paused. “That’s what you’re getting at? You think Fudge should what-- step down?”

“I don’t believe the Minister will willingly step down until he is at the brink of being forced out of office. To do that would require the support of two-thirds of the Wizengamot… It is not a matter of whichever option gets the most votes, like criminal trials. But first, he must be called to a trial for Displacement in the first place, which half of the Wizengamot must agree to, firstmost. Such a feat is difficult to say the least… the last time a Minister was Displaced was approximately 90 years ago… It typically requires the support of an outside candidate for Minister who would be placed into office as soon as the previous Minister was Displaced.” Crouch gave Harry a firm look.

 _Oh_.

“You want me to support you somehow?”

“With your support, it would be much easier to get a trial for Fudge. This can and will only help the Ministry and, as a result, Wizarding Britain. Of course, if I were to become Minister and oversee the Ministry’s work to make sure everything is kept in order, that would be an extremely beneficial thing. I could easily find you a place in the Ministry once you have graduated from Hogwarts… It is never too early to begin thinking about one’s future. Forget being someone’s assistant or an auror-- those careers are thankless, and in the latter’s case, often dangerous. I could get you a position with actual lean, where you could actually help make wizarding society a better place.”

Honestly… that didn’t sound that bad. Actually, it sounded great.

Harry hadn’t put much thought into his future at all. He had once heard that Potters typically didn’t work due to their fortune piling up over the years, but that didn’t sound very appealing.

“Hold on-- you’re talking about getting rid of corruption and all that, which is great and all, but weren't you the one to send Sirius to Azkaban without a trial in the first place?”

Crouch sighed. “It was a different era, Mr. Potter. When I was Head of Magical Law Enforcement, different… tactics had to be employed with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named being at large. For example, aurors were allowed to use the Unforgivables-- the killing curse, the torture curse, and the mind control curse-- when dealing with his followers. While it had been apparent he had been defeated, not everyone believed it at first. His followers, his… Death Eaters had to be dealt with, in order to make sure there was not some attempt at an uprising. At present, actions such as those during the First Wizarding War would be seen as extreme. Extreme measures were necessary then, but they are not now.

“That is not to say those measures did not lead to any casualties, or innocents harmed, but it protected far more than it hurt. Fudge however fails to acknowledge this change and refuses to speak of those people caught in the crossfire. He will do anything to save face, I’m afraid. I will not allow that mistake to be made again.”

“Alright, I think I can agree with what you’re trying to do, but...well, what if my influence doesn’t help as much as you’re hoping it would?”

“A deal is a deal, and I would still attempt to get you some sort of position in the ministry. You being who you are might get you a few more opportunities than most.”

For what it was worth, Crouch sure was convincing. Maybe there was a reason why Percy practically worshipped the man.

“Now, I’m afraid I’ve already taken up quite a bit of your time. We both have things we would most likely rather be doing now. Please think thoroughly on what I have offered you.”

Harry nodded. “I will, sir.”

“Have a good afternoon.” Crouch nodded back and apparated away.

Harry made his way back around the tent, mind preoccupied. It was true that Fudge was incompetent. Crouch, however, seemed to be a real stickler for the rules-- despite his rebellious streak, Harry could acknowledge there was some need for laws. He’d have to ask Sirius about it later and see what his opinion was. Of course, he might be a bit biased, but it would be good to get _some_ advice and not walk in blind.

Lost in thought, Harry didn’t realise someone was right in front of him until it was too late. His head met a very fleshy chest.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going--”

His eyes jerked upward to meet the person’s face. She was a plump woman in a sundress and a large, gaudy hat adorned with fake flowers. Harry thought he something glittering on her hat in the sunlight. Her face was soft, but something about her blue-eyed gaze was very piercing. Harry could have sworn he had seen her somewhere before. She kept looking at him and they maintained an awkward moment of eye contact. It was when she smoothed down her dress and her wrists jingled with gold jewelry he remembered his dream from nights previous-- the strange little inn in the middle of nowhere, the woman, the squirrel, the strange flurry of mismatched visions and sounds.

She tilted her head and spoke in a light, airy voice. “No harm was done,” She looked back up at him and her eyes flashed with recognition. “Say-- aren’t you Harry Potter?” The woman held a hand to her chest-- Harry couldn’t find out if she was just shocked or scandalized.

“Um--”

“Allow me to introduce myself. I am Bertha Jorkins,” she smiled, but it didn’t quite meet her eyes. Bertha held out her hand. “It is _such_ a pleasure to meet you.”

Harry looked down curiously at her hand and took it. Her handshake was quite firm. “You too. Uh-- Ludo Bagman was looking for you earlier-- he’d thought you had gotten lost.”

“Ah yes, it appears I did. But I believe I know where I am now. I can find dear Ludo fine enough on my own. Thank you for… informing me.” The corners of her mouth lifted once more. “I hope one day we will be able to get to know each other better… Harry Potter.”

She weaved her way through the maze of tents gracefully out of sight.

That was strange. For some reason… he wanted to follow after her. He found himself taking a step forward, but sat back on his heels after catching himself. He’d already been absent from the Weasley’s tent for a long time. He made his way back to their campground.

“Well, well, look who’s back,” said George as Harry rounded the corner of the tent back to the campfire. “I think Harry might be coming after your job, Mr. Weatherby.” George turned to Percy.

Percy huffed, but Harry just laughed. “That won’t be happening any time soon. I still have school, after all.”

“Isn’t that polite of him, Percy? He’s giving you 4 years to become Minister before you get kicked out from under Crouch’s arse--”

“Fred!” Molly yelled from her position near Arthur.

Fred spoke. “What is it, mother? I didn’t say anything.” Molly looked between the two twins and shook her head. She resumed her conversation with Mr. Weasley.

Sirius had stood up from next to Charlie and Bill who were still sitting and walked over to Harry. “So, what was all that about?” he said.

“I’ll tell you about it when we’re back home. It isn’t super important now.”

Fred grinned. “Oh, I bet he just doesn’t want Percy to hear about it.”

“I’ve had enough from the two of you,” Percy gritted his teeth. “If you will excuse me, I will be working on my report until the match starts.”

Ginny had walked over and started speaking. “It looks like you won’t have much time for that,” she pointed at a large gathering of people. Wizards and witches began apparating all over. Near the woods, a lighted path had appeared with green and red paper lanterns attached to the trees.

* * *

 

 

The game itself was absolutely fantastic. While Viktor Krum was the one to catch the snitch, Ireland still won in the end. The celebrations ran late into the evening.

“What was that you were saying about the Bulgarians winning, Ron?” joked Harry.

“Alright, if half of the Bulgarians were as good as Krum, they would’ve won.”

The group of Weasleys, along with Harry and Sirius made their way through the crowd slowly back to their campsite. Some people lingered in the boxes overhead the stadium.

“Ugh, Malfoy’s here too,” said Ron.

“Where?”

“Up there, being a prat-- he’s just standing there, look at him,” Ron nodded up at a box above and to their right. Harry looked up and immediately recognized the platinum hair indicative of the Malfoys, along with another familiar face.

“Hey… that’s Bertha Jorkins up there with them.”

Lucius Malfoy looked stiff, but Bertha seemed jovial and was radiating enthusiasm. She spoke animatedly to Mr. Malfoy.

“Malfoy’s probably just trying to worm his way into the ministry even worse.”

“Hmm.”

Bertha reached into a pocket of her sundress and handed a sealed scroll of parchment to Malfoy, who took it hesitantly.

“Harry, you coming?”

Harry turned his head back forward to see Ron had kept walking while he had stopped and stared. “Uh-- yeah.”

They caught up to the Weasleys in a few steps.

“Now, Fred, George, I don’t want you telling your mother you’ve been gambling, alright?”

“‘Course we won’t tell her,” said Fred.

“We don’t want our money confiscated. Won’t do us much good in _her_ vault, will it?” said George.

Mr. Weasley shook his head at the twins.

“Arthur!” A familiar voice called.

"Hmm?” he turned to the sound of his name. “Ah, good to see you again, Amos.”

Amos Diggory followed by Cedric came into Harry’s sight. They both seemed a bit breathless.

“Arthur, there’s an emergency-- the Ministry is demanding all its departments to assist. There’s muggles-- everywhere, and they keep coming in from nowhere. All of the portkeys are missing--”

“Has anyone been hurt?”

“No-- most are confused and while people are being obliviated, _we don’t know what to do with all of them_. No one knows where they came from.” Diggory’s voice quickened with his urgency. He turned to his son. “Cedric, stay here with the rest of Arthur’s family while we go deal with this.”

“What about the muggle repelling charms?”

“They can't do anything-- it's like the muggles have just apparated straight into the grounds-- we need to go, now.”

“Alright, alright--” Arthur turned to Mrs. Weasley. “Molly, make sure everyone stays together and does not leave the campsite.” The group of Weasleys had gone wide-eyed with concern.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the abrupt ending, but this chapter had become a monster at 11k words and I had to divide it somewhere.
> 
> Feel free to check me out on tumblr @thelastnero. I'll answer asks/prompts if I can.
> 
> Thanks to @dumblepoop for betareading and thank you all for your beautiful comments and kudos and everything <3


	7. As Above, So Below

“Death must be so beautiful. To lie in the soft brown earth, with the grasses waving above one's head, and listen to silence. To have no yesterday, and no tomorrow. To forget time, to forget life, to be at peace. You can help me. You can open for me the portals of death's house, for love is always with you, and love is stronger than death is.”

-Oscar Wilde

 

While the rest of the crowd heading back to the campgrounds bustled with excitement, the people around the Weasleys had gone silent after they overheard the conversation. The general public must not have been aware of the issue yet.

Molly turned to face the rest of the group. “You heard your father, we should go quickly--”

The mood had sobered dramatically by the time they reached their tent. The group sat in a circle around the newly lit campfire. The people around them went on cheerily, teams both celebrating and bemoaning the victories of the night.

Cedric probably looked the most awkward out of anyone. He sat stiffly between Harry and Sirius. 

“How about we all have some tea while we wait for your father to return, hmm?” said Molly, directly to Cedric. 

He blinked in surprise, but his face relaxed just as quickly. “Er- yes, that would be lovely, Mrs. Weasley.”

Molly busied herself with the tea kettle and the tension broke somewhat. 

“You think… everything's going to be okay, right?” asked Ginny with a frown.

“It was probably just a mix-up, that’s all.” Bill put a reassuring hand on Ginny’s shoulder.

Percy muttered something inaudible off to the side.

“What was that, Weatherby? If you have something to say, you’d _ be--st _ speak up,” said George.

“I didn’t say anything,” grumbled Percy, placing his palm to his forehead.

Ron had turned to Harry. “Something about this situation just reeks of-- well, something. Doesn’t it?”

Harry shrugged. “Beats me.”

“I mean, I’ve heard Dad talk about people playing pranks against the muggles before, but nothing like this.” Ron shook his head.

It was then when Cedric decided to pipe up. “It’s a shame that some wizards think that’s actually acceptable.”

Harry raised his eyebrows a bit in surprise. “Yeah…”

There was an awkward pause.

“So uh… Cedric…” started Harry.

He nodded slowly, locking eyes with Harry.

Harry blanched out and forgot what he had wanted to say. The silence had just been killing him.

“Hufflepuff right? You play seeker too?”

Cedric seemed relieved at the change in topic. “Ah yes. Probably not nearly as good as you, but I try.” He smiled sheepishly.

Harry scratched the back of his neck. “You know, I realise this is probably long overdue, but I never really saw you in the halls or anything-- thanks for at least offering a rematch last year. You know, after the incident with the dementors.”

Cedric flushed a little in embarrassment. “It was only the right thing to do. We didn’t really win that game fairly. I would have wanted anyone else to do the same for me.”

Harry laughed. “Yeah, well there’s a difference between knowing what’s right and actually doing it. If that match had been against Slytherin, I doubt they would have even offered. But really, thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” smiled Cedric. Harry found himself smiling in turn and only in that moment realised how deep a stormy grey his eyes really were.

“I think I would probably be the one to blame for that incident, I’m afraid,” said Sirius. Harry tore his gaze away from Cedric to meet Sirius’, whose eyes sparkled in acknowledgement. He had a knowing smile on his face. “I didn’t realise the dementors would fixate so much on you when I decided to come watch your game.”

Cedric seemed a bit confused at first, but then realization dawned on his face. “You came to watch in your animagus form?”

Sirius nodded with a grin. “Not one of my smartest ideas, but curiosity killed the cat. Or rather, the dog. And it only  _ nearly _ killed me. I was more worried about Harry.”

Cedric chuckled, looking between Harry and Sirius. He leaned over and nudged Harry. “It’s nice your godfather cares so much about you that he’d risk his own wellbeing to watch you play. I can respect that.”

Tea had been passed around the circle and everyone had relaxed substantially from the point they had been when Mr. Weasley had been called away. It was difficult to remain so tense when surrounded by the hustle and bustle of people from all sides.

Eventually, both Arthur and Amos returned to the campsite.

“Everything all fixed?” asked Charlie.

“Ah, yes-- it was a mess, but it’s all cleaned up now. The muggles are being sent home as we speak, and they won’t remember a thing. The ministry didn’t need all of us to send them home, just to figure out where to send them. They’re all gathered near Fudge’s tent now. Quite curious, actually, someone had posted an advertisement in a muggle paper about an event, I think they called it a scavenger hunt--”

“It’s all taken care of now. The persons responsible have been apprehended,” said Amos.

Mrs. Weasley seemed appalled. “Who would do such a thing?”

Amos replied. “Not my place to say, but it was a young bunch of wizards-- I hate to say I would have expected this from some of the more intolerant families, but the group mostly consisted of muggleborns, oddly enough.”

Harry furrowed his brow.

“Yes, very odd,” said Mr. Weasley, sounding as equally confused as Harry felt.

The sun had set by then, but the celebrations were still running and would probably go all night. The yellow-orange of campfires lit the black sky, and the smell of firewood and cool night wind permeated through the air.

“How exactly did it happen?” asked Sirius.

“Well, you see-” Arthur began excitedly, but stopped. “Oh, how rude of me.” He pulled up a chair and summoned another from the tent for Amos to sit on. “Here. Anyways, they stole all the portkeys and placed them in quite busy muggle locations. The muggles were lured with the promise of some prize, and quite a few of them were bunched around the portkey. Somehow it had been extended to transport anyone within a certain radius of it when the time came.”

Amos continued, with a much less enthusiastic tone. “It was also premeditated, which is worrying in its own right. That means someone within the ministry either helped or was manipulated into giving the perpetrators information.”

Amidst the crackling of fire and the normal bustle of people talking and cheering, there was a sound that sounded almost like a gunshot to Harry. Everyone in the circle looked at each other.

“Did someone get a cannon or something?” asked Bill, his long hair whipping around as he turned his head.

“I would have thought if the Irish had anything like that, they would’ve popped it after they won,” Ron grumbled.

Another bang reverberated through the air, so loud Harry thought his eardrums would burst. His vision went fuzzy and he felt as though he was underwater. Yelling broke out from all sides. Suddenly, a white hot pain pulsed in his scar, dripping like hot candle wax through his skin, onto his eyes and down his face. He fell to his knees with a yell.

“Harry!” Two hands grasped his shoulders.

“Is everyone alright?”

“What’s going on?”

The screams of several people sounded in the air. A flash of green light appeared in the distance, followed by more screams. Harry blinked and his vision came back to him finally. People started running through the campsites, away from something, and into the woods on the edge of the moor. 

Suddenly, a large group appeared, huddled together, laughing and jeering. Every last one of them was dressed in black cloaks with masks. They reminded Harry of dementors, but instead of inspiring pure sorrow, they radiated an aura of utter danger. Wizards and witches alike panicked at the sight of them and tripped over themselves in order to flee.

It was then that Harry saw why. Dangling in the air were a handful of people-- by their dress, assumedly muggles. Their bodies contorted under the cloaked figures’ manipulations into angles and bends that made Harry sick to witness.

“I think I’m going to throw up,” grimaced Ron.

“Everyone! Get into the forest! Amos and I are going to help the Ministry-- Go, quickly-- and make sure to stay together!” Mr. Weasley shouted over the crowds.

“I’m coming with you two,” Sirius drew his wand, then looked pointedly at Harry. “Please, _ be careful. _ ”

The group of figures had ran over a tent and set another on fire, still jeering over the muggles in the air. More figures had joined the group and Harry thought he could see another similar group in the distance. The smell of smoke was almost suffocating. He felt himself shoved by someone running by, directly into Cedric’s side.

“Sorry--”

“Come on, we need to run--” 

Fred had grabbed Ginny’s hand and they took off, George right behind them. Harry’s head whipped from Cedric to Ron, and they all sprinted after towards the woods.

The campgrounds were utterly destroyed and the fires had grown. Halfway to the woods, Harry looked behind himself and saw uniformed wizards trying to make their way through the crowd that had surrounded the muggles in the air.

“Harry!” yelled Ron.

He turned his head just in time to dodge a tree. He looked from side to side to see he could not recognise anyone, but Ron and Cedric beside him. The rest of the Weasley’s had disappeared into the woods. He heard the sound of a child crying nearby and a saw dark figures flash through the trees. Lights burst through the night and more figures pushed and shoved their way past Harry.

He heard a familiar voice yell out in pain.

“Ron!” He ran toward the voice to find Ron lying on the forest floor. 

Cedric ran up beside him in seconds. “What happened?” 

“Tripped over a tree root. Can I get a light, here?” 

Harry felt his back pocket for his wand, but came up short. “My wand-- it’s gone.” He felt panic build inside his chest.

“You’re kidding-- Cedric?”

He pulled out his wand. “ _ Lumos _ .”

Ron pulled himself off the ground and stepped over a very large root. They all walked forward together by the light of Cedric’s wand. They had seemed to separate themselves from the majority of the crowd, or so they thought until a rustling sounded through the brush.

“What was tha--”

A house elf scurried past them and slumped against a tree, panting heavily.

“Bad, bad wizards about-- Winky is in such trouble-- she be getting out of the way now,” she collected her breath and ran past them.

The group exchanged looks.

“We should push on,” said Cedric.

There was a mad cackle from behind them, much closer than was comfortable. The three took off running once more. Their feet beat against the ground, cracking branches and pushing past leaves. A green light flashed through the woods, as if aimed right in front of them.

“What the hell?” yelled Harry.

“We need to split up, or we’ll just be a bigger target--” said Ron.

“We  _ should _ stick together,” insisted Cedric.

“ _ We need to move, now _ \--”

There was another flash of light, like fire through the air that mutated into something else. The cool of the night instantly ignited into an unbearable heat that inflamed Harry’s skin. A ball of flame hurtled toward them in the air and spread, jumping from tree to tree above them.

“Run!”

A fireball spit directly toward Ron who dodged to one side and took off sprinting to the right, out of sight. The fireball caught on a huge, mangled tree, igniting into a wall of tumultuous fire. Above the crackle of the flames and the whooshing of the forest being overtaken, Harry thought he heard a hissing of a snake. He looked over his shoulder and saw the massive flaming form of a snake weaving through the air. His breath caught in his throat.

Cedric grabbed his hand and pulled. “Harry, let’s go--” 

Harry’s legs regained feeling and they both ran as hard forward as they could. Every so often, he thought he felt his feet were on fire, but the blaze was stamped out with the force of his feet hitting the ground. His heart was beating in his chest as hard as his feet beat the floor. All ahead he could see was the black of dead trees and orange sparks raining across his vision.

Suddenly, the graveyard of dead foliage ended and they found themselves on the other side of the forest in a barren plain. The fire had nothing to sink its deadly fangs into and could not follow. Harry and Cedric stopped at the bottom of a hill to catch their breath.

“... Merlin…”

“That… was Fiendfyre… I’m almost… positive,” Cedric gasped out. “Someone in there means serious business… They mean to murder people, innocents… There’s no way people aren’t going to die in there...”

Harry panted enough to regain the oxygen his body so desperately craved and looked around. No tents, no people, no anything. “Are we across from the campgrounds?” 

“I don’t know-- Let’s get a better look.” Cedric climbed the slope of the hill and held a hand out for Harry to take. His feet sunk as he tried to follow up the hill, but eventually they both reached the top. 

The plain was surrounded by forest on all sides, and Harry thought he could see a creek to the south.

“If that fire spreads through the whole wood… we’ll be trapped,” said Harry, making to slide down the slope towards the creek.

“Wait,” Cedric put a hand in front of Harry. “Get down. I see someone.”

“What?” Harry tried to look over Cedric. “Do you recognize them?”

“No, get down on the other side-- you don’t have a wand--”

“Okay, okay--” Harry crouched at the edge of the hill.

“No, go to the bottom and stay there-- I’m going to go try and talk to them--” Cedric turned his back to Harry and pointed his wand in front of him.

“Have you gone mad? They might have been the one to start all this--” Harry slowly slid down, but his foot caught on a hard layer of rock and dirt. He peeked above the hill just barely.

“If they weren’t one of the people responsible, they don’t deserve to be attack--”

“AVADA KEDAVRA!” a male voice screamed from across the plain. A bright green light flashed and Cedric toppled over backwards on top of Harry. He rolled to the bottom of the hill, covered in dirt. 

“Cedric?!” Harry whisper-yelled.

Cedric lied completely motionless on top of Harry, pure deadweight. Harry felt horror paralyze him. He couldn’t be… But his eyes-- those grey eyes-- they weren’t looking forward, but past him, glassy and unseeing. His body was still warm. When Harry tried to push against his shoulder, it moved without resistance and his arm flopped almost bonelessly. Harry frantically at felt his wrist and then his neck for a pulse. Nothing. There was absolutely nothing. He was dead. 

Fear curled inside Harry’s chest, only to be replaced by anger. That wizard had killed Cedric-- for no reason whatsoever. He balled his fists, his breathing shaky. He wanted to jump up and attack him in turn--

What stopped him was the laughter-- no such sound could ever come out of any sane man’s mouth. It seemed to echo through the plain, off the blackened stumps, over the screaming and the crying in the distance.

Harry stilled and closed his eyes, relaxing his body like he saw Cedric’s had.

There was a rustling in the grass, someone walking up the hill. Harry barely breathed and worried the wizard would be able to hear his heartbeat, frantic as it was.

“MORSMORDRE!” 

It took everything within him not to flinch at the voice, but he could tell the spell was not directed at him. Like a tidal wave, screams flooded the ember-laden air. What was worse was Harry thought he could hear some group cheering as well…

There was a crack like lightning. Harry opened one eye, just barely squinting, but saw the stranger was gone. That was not the first thing that drew his attention however. In the sky was a smoky green symbol depicting a snake entwined with a skull. His stomach wrenched at the sight of it in the night. Just then, he heard yelling.

“Stupefy!” came the voices of at least a dozen wizards. Red lights whizzed over Harry’s head to the other side of the plain. 

“Stop! That’s Harry Potter!” A familiar voice yelled. 

One of the wizards sprinted over and crouched over Harry. Sirius instantly took his face into his hands and it was only then that Harry realised his face was wet with tears. “Are you alright, Harry?”

His voice was raspy. “Cedric--”

A voice bawled next to them. “My boy! What did you do to him?” A wand was pointed uncomfortably close to Harry’s cheek.

“Get that away from him, Diggory--” Sirius rose to his feet, placing himself between Amos Diggory and Harry.

Amos was wailing, clutching his own face, trying desperately to reach Cedric’s body. “I can’t believe it-- the Dark Mark, murdering my only son--”

“Both of you will step away from him,” came a cold, commanding voice. Crouch strolled into view, followed by several Ministry wizards and looked straight down at Harry. “Harry Potter… Who did this? Where are they?” 

“Isn’t it obvious, Crouch? I can barely believe it myself-- the Boy Who Lived gone dark! He needs life in Azkaban--”

“He’s just a boy--” came a voice that sounded like Mr. Weasley.

Harry stood from the ground. “I didn’t do anything!”

“ _ Where did they go _ ?” repeated Crouch indignantly.

“They apparated away as soon as the cast the spell that did-- well, that,” Harry pointed at the symbol in the sky.

“Likely story--” snapped Amos, crossing his arms.

Another unfamiliar voice spoke from off to the side. “You can’t honestly expect Harry Potter--  _ the _ Harry Potter-- would conjure You-Know-Who’s mark--” 

Amos seemed to backtrack. “I-- but who else?”

The Ministry members who had arrived were now surveying the area. One of them called from near the creek. “Hold on, one of our stunners went through.”

Crouch’s eyes swept from the wizard who had called out, then back to Harry. “I thought you said they apparated away?”

“I could have sworn I heard them--”

“Bring whoever you found over here,” Crouch called back to the wizard before Harry could finish.

There was a rustling through the brush as the Ministry wizard dragged a prone body toward the group on the hill. It was the small, limp figure of a house elf. Harry recognized her as the elf that had been in the woods before.

As she was laid on the ground, the other Ministry wizards stared at Crouch. 

“Crouch, isn’t that your elf?

Crouch stood motionless, looking down at Winky in shock. “It couldn’t be--” Crouch’s face instantly wiped itself of any emotion. “They had to have apparated away. It’s the only explanation.” 

“Sir, she-- she had a wand…” The ministry wizard held up a wand that was all too familiar to Harry. He went wide-eyed at the sight of it.

“A violation of clause 3 of the Code of Wand Usage. No non-human creature is permitted the use of a wand--” started Amos, resigned. “But why…”

“That…” Harry started speaking, but shrunk under the eyes of everyone at once. “That’s my wand. I thought I had lost it in the woods when we were running--”

“So you admit to it? You threw it aside after you conjured the mark,  _ murdered my son _ \--” Amos sounded hysterical and Harry almost felt sorry for him.

“I lost it before we even reached this area,” Harry insisted. “We saw Winky when we were running through the woods.”

“So,” Amos leaned down to Winky’s level. Winky was quivering with fright, eyes looking like they might bulge right out of her head. “You-- you-- snatch a boy’s wand and decide to ruin some poor wizards’ lives, did you? To what-- revolt against your master?” His voice was shaking as hard as the poor elf’s body.

“No, sir, no sir-- I is not a bad house elf, I is just picking the wand up, sir--” she sounded like she was about to cry. “I is loyal to Master Crouch and his family-- I is not making the dark mark, Winky does not know how--”

“Mr. Diggory, I--” Harry began slowly, but his breath caught in his throat. Amos looked up at him, eyes glossy with unshed tears. “I don’t think it was Winky-- I heard the voice of the person who did it, and the voice was too deep to be hers.”

Crouch was shaking his head, muttering to himself off. “First accusing Harry Potter of all people, then  _ my own house elf _ \-- what are you playing at Amos? You think I teach my servants dark magic, is it? After everything I’ve done for the Ministry?”

“I… no, Barty.” Amos took a deep breath. 

“Now,” Crouch cleared his throat. “I understand normally you would take in the subject for questioning, but given that she is my house elf, I will handle her discipline.”

Amos looked as though he wanted to protest, but didn’t have the breath to do so.

“M-master?” Winky’s eyes were fluttering rapidly, tears spilling out. “P-please, m-master--”

“I told you to not leave the tent no matter what-- I have no use for a servant that has no regard for my reputation or my orders.  _ That means clothes. _ ”

Winky threw herself at Crouch’s feet, bawling. “No, m-master, no clothes, p-please!”

Crouch stepped backwards away from Winky, who remained sobbing. Everyone was quiet.

A gentle hand placed itself on Harry’s shoulder. He turned to meet Sirius’ face. “I think it’s time for us to go,” he said softly. He raised his voice to address Amos. “Can we get his wand back, now?”

Amos walked over slowly, head down. His head raised to look at Harry, arm outstretched with his wand. “Here,” he muttered. Harry took his wand back.

Amos made to walk away, but Harry called out to him. “Mr. Diggory--”

He paused. “Yes?” Harry couldn’t help but notice how tired he sounded.

“Cedric… if it weren’t for him, I would probably be dead too.” Harry stared down at his feet, then looked back up at Amos. “I know that probably doesn’t make you feel any better and it won’t bring him back but… he tried. I didn’t know him for very long, personally, but... everything I’ve seen him done, everything I’ve heard of him doing was always good things. And I’m sorry I couldn’t do anything to help.”

Amos sighed, his whole body trembling with his breathing. He rubbed his eyes. “Thank you… Mr. Potter. I… I am sorry for blaming you.” Without another word, he walked away.

Harry watched him disappear into the burnt forest. 

“Mr. Potter,” came a stern voice from behind. Harry turned to find Crouch, holding out a roll of parchment. “Here are more details regarding my proposition. Please review them carefully, and send me an answer soon, preferably before your school year begins.”

“Uh-- will do,” said Harry, taking the parchment.

Sirius put a protective hand on Harry’s back and guided them away from the gathering of Ministry wizards.

“Are you alright, Harry?” said Sirius, eyes full of concern.

Harry swallowed. “Uh-- yeah, just a few scrapes I think--”

“I  _ mean _ emotionally, how are you?” 

Harry paused. Up to this point, he’d tried not to think about what had just happened, tried not to linger on his emotions. Cedric was only a few years older than him. He hadn’t even graduated Hogwarts. His life hadn’t even started before it was torn away from him by that dark wizard. He had family that would miss him, that would mourn his death.

Harry couldn’t help but feel like he was responsible somehow-- like if he had done something differently, Cedric may still have been alive now. There was a sinking feeling in his stomach.

“I don’t know.”

Sirius sighed and rubbed his back. “It’s not your fault, Harry.”

“I know, I just… I don’t… I don’t know how to feel about all this.”

“No one ever does, Harry,” said Sirius, looking off into the distance. 

They reached the Weasley’s tent, but all Harry could think of was going home at that point. He was exhausted and being surrounded by the remains of the night’s events only made him sick to his stomach. 

He and Sirius said their farewells and headed back home to Godric’s Hollow.

 

* * *

 

 

The sun had only just risen that morning when someone entered through the fireplace of Office 12 of the Department of Magical Sports and Games.

The office itself was rather small-- larger than a cubicle, but only just. The fireplace dominated the right half of the room, a solid, redwood desk the left. Hanging from the wall was a large pinboard with assorted notes pinned all over, seemingly for the simplest things. The door had an awful habit of banging against the desk when opened, if it was not caught on one of the numerous stacks of paper littering the ground first.

The tall, bearded wizard stood awkwardly in the office across from the witch sitting at her desk. 

“Ahh, Igor, please take a seat,” she said sweetly, gesturing to the gaudy, velveteen-lined chair in front of her desk.

He cringed as he sat down. All in all, he felt extremely out of place in the rather femininely decorated office, with its tacky furniture and cramped conditions.

Bertha simply smiled, before breaking down into a phlegmy cough.

Karkaroff raised an eyebrow and spoke cautiously in his thick accent. “Miss Jorkins, is it? If you are ill, I may return at another time.”

“Oh, no-- I am perfectly well. Or at least, I will be.” 

Karkaroff didn’t like the look her eyes suddenly got. “I am afraid I am confused as to why I have been invited here in the first place. If it is regarding the Triwizard Tournament, I have been speaking with Ludo Bagman himself.”

“Oh no, Igor, none of that,” Bertha waved him off.  “I have invited you here on different matters. Now… I am sure you are aware of what occurred at the Quidditch World Cup, yes?”

His eyes widened, then narrowed. “Are you implying something, Miss Jorkins?”

“Not at all, Igor. Why, the entirety of Wizarding Europe is aware of your renunciation of the Dark Lord… your betrayal of some of his most valuable Death Eaters… I’m quite surprised that you yourself have not become a target, however.” The look she gave him-- he couldn’t figure out what she was playing at. 

His spat out his words harshly. “If that will be a problem, I am assuredly safe once we reach Hogwarts for the tournament.”

“The tournament… yes. But what of you when it ends? Or rather… before it begins?” 

“Unless there is a point to this meeting, I will now take my leave--” Karkaroff rose from his seat with a huff.

Bertha stepped between him and the fireplace. While she had to angle her head to look up at him, Karkaroff felt as though he were the smaller one. Her voice drawled on with an unspoken threat. “If the Dark Lord were to gain power once more… You would not be safe no matter where you went-- Hogwarts, Durmstrang… there is no hiding. You’re a smart man, Igor, yet you’ve ignored your mark, it seems… Aren’t you curious as to  _ why _ it has darkened in recent months?”

“I have no idea what you are--”

“Oh, but you do, don’t you? Yet you continue to run… that is no way to get back in your Lord’s good graces… However, if you choose to make the smart decision, which I know you will--” She stared hard up at Karkaroff. “There is a way for you to be forgiven, your past betrayals forgotten.”

Karkaroff pushed past her and angrily pinched some floo powder from the container near the fireplace. He threw a sneer over his shoulder back at Bertha who held herself tall and unperturbed. “I will not stand by and be threatened by you or any death eater ever again. Good morning.” He threw the powder into the fireplace with an unnecessary amount of force.

“Durm--”

“Imperio.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Archie @ dumblepoop for betareading.  
> Check out my tumblr @thelastnero  
> Thanks for your comments <3 they give me life. I am your humble servant.


	8. A New Perspective

“We can complain because rose bushes have thorns, or rejoice because thorns have roses.”

-Alphonse Karr

 

The rest of Harry’s summer was remarkably busier than the first half, for which he was grateful. He worried that if he had nothing to do all summer, he wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about what happened to Cedric.

Remus and the Weasleys had been invited to try to clean up Grimmauld Place alongside Sirius and Harry. Molly jumped at the opportunity and had all of the Weasleys currently living at the Burrow come over to help. They weren’t quite prepared for what lied within the house, however.

“Be careful!”  

There was a crash in the dining room.

“Filth! Blood-traitors! Scum!” wailed Walburga’s portrait in the hall.

“Oh, now you’ve woken her up,” groaned Ron.

Harry was glad that the cleaning pretty much took up all of his concentration-- not only was there a ton of work to be done, but they all had to keep their eyes open in case they came across any dark artifacts or creatures that had taken up residence in the house.

Honestly, some of the artifacts were quite interesting. Or at least they would be if Harry didn’t feel like he was seconds away from his own premature death every time he handled them. They had a bottomless bag in the middle of the room for things that were to be thrown out and a pile for things to be kept and refurbished. Needless to say, that pile did not get very large, mostly consisting of books that Harry and Remus had decided to keep.

From time to time, the house elf Kreacher would wander in and act like he was cleaning when in reality he was filching away objects. When Harry asked Sirius where he could possibly be keeping them all, Sirius simply shrugged.

The bedrooms were generally much less volatile in their possessions. At that point, they had decided to split up and tackle rooms in pairs to cover more ground quicker. While the adults were busy with the more dangerous rooms on the lower floors, such as the kitchen and drawing room, the younger ones were sent upstairs where the rooms were presumably safer. Harry had found himself paired up with Ginny.

They hadn’t had much interaction following their second year, both feeling quite awkward around the other. Harry felt as though he should apologize for something, but it was too late. Ginny had seemed to have gotten over her hero worship of Harry quite quickly following his second year, but was still friendly towards him. They cleaned in comfortable silence alongside each other.

They had finished one of the guest bedrooms before moving on to the next: the room Sirius had pointed out as belonging to his brother in the past. He made a comment about having no need for any of Regulus’ personal possessions to be kept and handed them both another bottomless bag of rubbish.

The room itself was quite luxurious under all the dust and debris. Luckily, there were no doxies or other creatures hidden in the curtains this time. Green and silver dominated the room, with its four-poster bed and rug banners on the walls. Across from the bed lied an ornate dresser with a mirror and landscape painting above it. The dark wood floors had to be swept and the antique furniture to be dusted. As Harry walked across the room for the first time, he almost tripped over a collection of newspaper clippings taped together with Spell-O Tape. All of the articles had to do with Lord Voldemort in some way, to Harry’s distaste. A surprising amount of books in shelves lined one side of the room, with titles such as _Practical Curses for the Proactive Wizard, Nature’s Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy_ , and _A Blood Mage’s Anthology_. Harry tried not to linger while dusting over those.

The contents of Regulus’ desk were a whole different story. There was a bounty of notes on it, but all were written in some kind of indistinguishable shorthand. Harry was tempted to keep them in order to find out their true contents, maybe with the help of Hermione, but with Ginny in the room he decided against it. When he made to pick up what looked like an overly elaborate cube paperweight, to his surprise, a metal compartment slid out like a pair of jaws and latched itself onto his fingers.

“Fuck, ow-” He tried to pull it off with his left hand, but failed. “Ginny!”

She hurried over wide-eyed, and upon seeing what was on his fingers, instantly grabbed the offending item with both of her hands and pulled-- hard. Harry could feel the skin around his fingers rip.

Ginny tossed the demonic paperweight into the ‘get rid of’ bag and looked back at Harry, then down at his bleeding fingers. “Oh Merlin, I’m so sorry Harry-- are you alright?”

“Yeah, just--” Harry shook his head and took a deep breath. “Wasn’t quite expecting that.” He pulled out his wand and fixed his cuts with a quick ‘Episkey _’_.

“I can’t believe this was Sirius’ brother’s room,” Ginny said looking around the room.

“Well, he _was_ a Death Eater.”

Ginny hummed under her breath. “This is a nice room though. Nicer than the guest suites. Although, if he was a Death Eater, I’d be expecting more snakes and skulls, instead of all these books and runes and rubbish.”

“Runes?” Harry raised an eyebrow.

She waved him off. “Just the normal, protective sort. Not many people use them anymore, but a lot of older wizarding family homes use them,” she said. She pointed at one of the rugs on the walls. Harry couldn’t make any sense of the markings on it. “Like this one. I know Hogwarts has a lot of them hidden around.”

“I guess I never really paid attention,” Harry chuckled.

She smiled softly at him, but her eyes looked like she was off in another world.

Just then, the door creaked open. Ginny snapped back into focus and they both looked towards the source of the noise. There in the doorway stood Kreacher, mumbling to himself.

“Throwing away Master Regulus’ possessions, no respect, the blood traitor and the half-blood, defiling my Mistress’ home--”

“Kreacher, what are you doing here?” Harry sighed.

“Kreacher is helping to clean, of course.” The house elf wandered into the room, running his tiny hands across the woodwork of the bookshelves.

“You know--” Harry raised his brows. “--if you really cared about your master so much, why didn’t you just keep the house clean all this time?”

Kreacher ignored him and continued to caress the furniture in his reverence. Harry and Ginny exchanged a look and went back to work.

Harry could have sworn he felt the elf watching his every move, hearing a slight intake of air every time something was thrown out. Sometimes a wheezing accompanied by a rustling in the background. Honestly, he was too focused at the task at hand to pay much attention.

He had moved on to the dresser and was initially going to start from the top down when a strange feeling overcame him-- as if he should start the opposite way. He thought he saw a flicker of movement from above him, but when his eyes moved upward, all he could see was the landscape painting and the mirror above the dresser. He figured he must have just seen Ginny moving in the mirror or something.

His eyes were instantly drawn back to the bottom drawer of the dresser. Two silver handles were embedded into the wood. Harry felt as though a string was woven around his wrists, pulling them to grasp the handles. Except it wouldn’t budge. He pulled the drawer again. It was stuck.

He pulled harder, but nothing happened. Placing a hand hard against the dresser, his feet firmly anchored to the bottom, he pulled again to get no positive result. An intense frustration gripped him, and he had no idea why _it wouldn’t just open_ \--

“Harry? What are you doing?” came the voice of a concerned Ginny. She leaned over the side of the dresser to look down at Harry, who just realised how stupid he looked.

“This drawer just won’t open…” He grit his teeth, glaring down at it.

Ginny just looked amused. “You grab one side, I’ll get the other. Pull on the count of three.”

“Alright.” They got into position.

“One.” He gripped the handle as hard as he could.

“Two.” He attempted to glare the drawer into submission.

“Three--” They pulled and Harry punched himself in the eye with the leftover force.

“Harry!”

“I’m fine,” he grumbled. He just couldn’t catch a break that afternoon, could he?

Ginny tried to stifle her laughter, but failed excruciatingly so. “I’m sorry--”

“It’s fine, Ginny.” Harry couldn’t stay down for very long, even with being laughed at. “You’re a lot stronger than you look.”

The redhead grinned at him. “Probably all the manual labor from working with Professor Sprout.”

Harry’s smile dropped. “... I really am sorry, you know.”

She put a hand on his shoulder. “You tried your best, Harry. I’m not angry-- at least, not anymore.” Her eyes turned downcast. “It was all _his_ fault.”

A knot formed in Harry’s chest, a lump in his throat. “How is it? Working with Sprout, I mean.”

Ginny smiled weakly. “It’s… alright. It beats working with Snape or Hagrid. I spend a lot of time with Neville. I’m happy I’ll never have to walk into a potions class ever again.” She and Harry shared a small laugh. “Still, I… miss some things. I guess my chance of being able to play Quidditch for Gryffindor is long-gone now.”

“Why do you say that?” Harry cocked his head.

She shook hers. “I’ve never heard of a squib playing Quidditch, Harry.”

“You’re not a squib--”

“I might as well be. And I’m not saying it’s bad to be a squib, it’s just… Well, it sucks-- having magic one day, having it gone the next.”

“...Have you tried riding a broom?”

“What?” She seemed startled.

“I mean… you don’t know unless you try again? I’m pretty sure even… squibs can use magical objects.”

Ginny hummed. “... I don’t know actually. I… maybe.”

“I mean-- even if you can’t, you won’t lose anything by trying. But if you can--”

“I’ll have annoyed you with my insecurities for no reason,” she chuckled.

He smiled. “Well, I wouldn’t say for no reason. Anyways, we should get back to work.”

Harry looked into the dresser that had taken so much force to open. Robes, robes and more robes. He didn’t know why he felt so disappointed, as if he had been expecting something more to be inside the drawer.

“Those probably aren’t gonna be of much use to anyone anymore.” Ginny said, presumably having calmed down somewhat. She lifted one of the robes up only for dust to fly through the air. “Ugh, gross--”

Harry looked to see holes chewed through the black fabric.

“Must’ve been doxies in here at one point or another. Better pitch them.”

He felt slightly itchy all over and thought he could hear Kreacher hyperventilating in the corner as they threw Regulus’ old robes away.

As Harry picked up the last robe of the stack however, something heavy fell out.

A sealed box clunked to the floor.

“What’s that?” asked Ginny curiously.

Harry threw the robe to the side and picked up the box. It was made of tin, with a floral, black lithograph design. He easily opened it by sliding off the top. Inside, on a bed of velvet, was a golden locket.

He set the box back down on the dresser and held up the locket, mesmerized. The light let in from the drawn curtains seemed to bounce off the gold, illuminating the jeweled letter- ’S’ in the middle.

“Pretty,” Ginny seemed just as taken with it as Harry.

A sudden wave of protectiveness crashed over him, simultaneously shocking him and making him jerk away from Ginny in response. She hadn’t seemed to notice however.

“Can I see it?”

Harry blinked and handed it over, trying not to appear reluctant.

Ginny held it up and looked at it closely. “I wonder what the ‘S’ is for… Did Regulus ever have a girlfriend, you wonder?”

Harry shrugged. “Sirius would probably be the best person to ask, although I’m pretty sure he would’ve already ran away by the time Regulus was old enough to date.”

Ginny hadn’t looked away from the locket and was staring into the murky gold of it like it was a crystal ball about to profess her future. She frowned at it and slowly reeled back. “For some reason…” she stopped and shook her head.

“What is it?” Harry cocked his head.

“I don’t know. I think it has some kind of enchantment or something on it. It doesn’t feel outright harmful, but… I don’t know.”

“It’s probably just been around so many dark artifacts for so long, they’ve melded into it.”

Ginny hummed. “Maybe. I don’t know why, but it feels so familiar-- I just can’t put my finger on it.” She turned back to Harry. “You keeping it?”

“Yeah.” Harry stuck his hand out without even thinking.

She laughed. “Sure you don’t want me to just put it on you?” She dangled the gold chain by a single elegant finger.

Harry opened his mouth and blinked. “Uh--”

She snorted. “Come here.”

Harry stooped down a bit so she could put the locket around his neck. She took a step back to examine him and started giggling.

“What?” He turned around to look at himself in the mirror.

“It’s just a bit… gaudy, don’t you think?” she snickered.

Harry scoffed. “Well, I think it matches my eyes, doesn’t it?” he said sarcastically and batted his eyes.

There was a wheezy intake of breath from right behind them, startling them both. Ginny nearly tripped over Kreacher and took a large step back. Harry met Kreacher’s eyes in the mirror. The elf extended a bony finger forward, shakily pointing at the locket that now laid on Harry’s chest.

“Master Regulus’ locket-- worn by the the death of Kreacher’s master’s master-- oh Kreacher is such a bad elf-- failed his master’s orders, he did--” Tears gushed down the elf’s wrinkled face. “The blood traitors is throwing it out too-- nothing to be left of Kreacher’s mistress’ house--”

Kreacher reached out to grasp one of the bed’s posts and slammed his head against it.

“Hey! Kreacher--” Harry grabbed the elf and pulled him away from the bed. “Stop that-- we aren’t throwing it out, alright? Everything else is going, but the locket is staying. Is that good enough for you?”

The elf just sniffed. “Master Regulus would be so disappointed-- so proud he was when he joined the Dark Lord, so proud--”

“Well, then be glad we aren’t letting everything of his get thrown out, considering none of us agree with any of that. His books and the locket are staying, and that’s it. You should be grateful--”

Ginny looked peculiarly at him. “Harry, maybe you should be nicer towards Kreacher… You _are_ going to be staying here, aren’t you? I don’t think it would be good for him to hate you _and_ Sirius,” she said, nudging him.

Harry blinked. Something had overcome him just then. “Right. I… am sorry, Kreacher. But Sirius is your new master now. Regulus, Walburga… they’re gone. And so are their supposed ‘virtues.’”

Kreacher blinked away his tears and just stared up at Harry. “If the half-blood and the blood-traitor will not be needing anything, Kreacher will be leaving.”

They worked in silence following that incident.

That night, Harry decided to bunk up in Regulus’ room. Sirius had taken his old room on the same floor, and while Harry could have taken the absolutely massive master bedroom, that would have meant being on his own floor all by himself. It wasn’t that he was scared of being alone, but to be perfectly honest, Grimmauld Place with its cobwebs around every corner and the occasional boggart hiding in the shadows wasn’t the most inviting place once the sun had set.

The sheets and duvet had been washed earlier that day, and Harry felt like he was staying in a fancy hotel rather than a house that people actually lived in. Never before had he fallen asleep quicker, lying in those silken silver sheets.

 

* * *

 

He was swimming, a small creature wriggling in a pond of cool, molten gold. The light pulsated around him, like the heartbeat of a mother, he the child in the womb. Suddenly, he broke free, out of the water onto a shore-- back and forth, he sailed across the sand, from side to side, slithering.

The gold crashed onto the shore and in a moment of astronomical ecstasy, the tide pulled, all light inverted and the sea turned a deep blue, leaving its gold particles to rest in the sand. As if the earth began rotating far quicker than normal, the sun set before his very eyes, shadows dancing and turning in the light, and the moon rose, bathing the beach in its luminescence.

A cave was before him, close enough to see, but far enough it would be quite the journey for his small body to traverse. It was then that a tall figure approached him on the beach. Human.

The creature’s tongue flicked into the air. He did not smell like a normal human, nor did he look like one. Those hollowed cheeks and that pallid skin may have fooled other humans, but to one who could see even deeper, into the very heat signature of any animal, it was obvious he was no longer wholly human. The blood running through his veins was almost as cold as the creature’s own blood, but not quite.

Among the cold, the creature could see a flash of heat in his vision-- a small oval on the figure’s neck. It was much warmer than the rest of the human’s body, but cooler than what was to be expected of a normal human.

He walked over the beach, towards the cave, but stopped. He turned his head and saw him there, lying in the sand.

 _“Greetings,”_ he hissed.

 _“Greetings,”_ the creature replied.

The human sat beside him on the sand, drawing the strange source of heat from his neck to hold it in front of him. He held out his other hand to the creature, who felt drawn to the slight warmth and coiled around his fingers.

“ _My friend, I must ask something of you. Something dreadful._ ”

“ _What, speaker_?”

The human set the oval of heat on his lap and reached for something in the pocket of his robes. A glass flask full of a emerald green liquid was fished out. It glowed phosphorantly.

“ _I cannot trust anyone else to help me test this. The consequence of it, however, will prove absolutely fatal. If it does not… I have failed._ ” He stared out at the water, his bloodshot eyes unblinking.

 _“Then I shall aid you however I am able._ ”

The man uncorked the flask and drained every drop into the serpent’s mouth.

It was cold, colder than anything on that very earth-- than the Dementor's Kiss, than the emptiness of sensation following the Cruciatus, than the hollow of a human who had never loved or been loved--

And the thirst was all the same. The water called to the serpent with its siren song, the heat of the sand under the moon burning against his scales, seeking sweet release from that desert of feeling and fire.

He slithered toward the sea and drank until he could drink no more.

 

* * *

 

Harry slept deeply that night, with only memories of his odd dream to plague him in the morning.

It took about three days, but the majority of Grimmauld Place was now livable and free of most dangers (“Not all,” said Sirius. “But where’s the fun in that?”) Harry had cleared out the more… distasteful elements of Regulus’ room, particularly the newspaper article shrine to Voldemort and the large Black family crest painted on the wall, and had taken it for his own room. Sirius was all too happy to help repaint the room red, while the silver details were kept.

Kreacher became much less hostile towards Harry, surprisingly, but kept giving him strange looks every time he walked by. He tried to ignore it.

The rest of his summer was much more slow paced from then on. Without the busyness of school-work or even work in general, Grimmauld Place was very quiet, even with both Sirius and Kreacher living alongside Harry. Sirius had lots of ideas for places to see and things to do, but Harry felt tired. Given that he only had two weeks left until Hogwarts started again, a holiday abroad was unlikely.

He had yet to touch Crouch’s letter a week after the Quidditch World Cup. It wasn’t that he forgot about it, moreso that everytime he looked at it, he remembered the events that had preceded Crouch giving it to him. It almost made him angry that Crouch hadn’t even the pause to wait until they were away from Cedric’s corpse before giving him the letter.

It was easier to latch onto the anger than to feel sorry for himself. Sirius had told him time and time again, whenever he caught Harry looking down, that it wasn’t his fault. In all honesty though, he realised it wasn’t exactly fair nor smart to be angry towards Crouch. He was just some politician trying to hit it big. Harry vaguely wondered what house he had been in at Hogwarts.

Eventually, he decided to open up the letter:

_To Harry Potter,_

_I humbly request your aid in restoring the British Ministry of Magic to its glorious days of old. If you agree with my methods, I would ask that support me in my campaign for Minister of Magic by using the tremendous platform given to you to educate the public of your beliefs._

_If you are successful in educating the wizards and witches of Britain, you will find good things come to those who support order within the Ministry. Only those who firmly understand this order should be allowed into these crucial positions and if you are successful, I will owe a large debt to you that may be paid through the offerance of one of these positions. Please duly consider my offer and send your reply by owl before the first of September._

_Sincerely,_

_Bartemius Caspar Crouch_

_Head of the Department of International Cooperation_

Well, that was a fancy way of saying ‘I need your help.’ Definitely a Slytherin.

Harry exited his new room and walked down the stairs to the second-floor drawing room. “Sirius?” He peeked in and saw his godfather sitting near the fireplace, a far-off look in his eyes.

He snapped back to reality and looked at Harry. “Oh-- yes, Harry?”

“Uh-- are you busy right now, or do you have time to talk?” Harry rubbed the back of his neck.

“Of course I have time for you, Harry,” Sirius laughed. “Although, Remus is coming over in about an hour or so for lunch-- just got his owl. Come sit--” He patted the spot next to him on the sofa.

Harry sat next to him and pulled out the letter. “So, you remember at the World Cup when Mr. Crouch wanted to talk to me, right?”

“The thing he was so secretive about? Of course,” Sirius grimaced.

“Well, apparently he’s making a play for Minister now.”

“Oh lovely. You know, I heard through the papers he already tried that once before, didn’t he? Lost to Fudge of all people right when you were starting up Hogwarts, I think. Bet that really made him happy.”

“The thing is… he’s asking me for help.”

Sirius raised his eyebrows high. “Help?”

“As in he wants me to use my…” Harry shook his head and waved his hands in front of him. “ _Influence_ to talk him up so when Fudge is finally forced to step down, he’ll be a shoo-in for Minister. Saying he’ll get me a position in the Ministry and all that.”

Sirius sighed.

“What?”

He shook his head. “I’d like to tell you to just ignore him and that he’s probably talking out of his arse, but this is Barty Crouch we’re talking about. Never met such a hard-ass as him. Can’t believe he seriously asked you something like that, though. Actually, no, nevermind, I do believe he’d ask you something like that. Always was the ruthless sort.”

“Like with your being shipped off to Azkaban?”

“Exactly like that.”

“So, what now? I mean… I don't really know what I want to do after Hogwarts yet. But wouldn't it be smart to keep my options open?”

Sirius stuck his thumb under his chin thoughtfully. “I wouldn't argue against that. I don't particularly like Crouch but… we could do a lot worse. Fudge, for example. And he wouldn't cheat you, of that I'm certain. We aren’t in another Wizarding War, so he can't really go as brutal as he was when he was head of Magical Law Enforcement. He could sure try, but he'd have no excuse. Incidents like the World Cup are few and far between.

“All in all… It's your decision, Harry. While you are a bit young for politics, you’ve been through things most people your age have never even imagined. I’d say the moment you survived Voldemort's killing curse, you became a political figure whether you or anyone else wanted you to be.”

Harry sighed at that thought. “Might as well make the most of it, then?”

“Staying positive, I see,” Sirius chuckled. “Speaking of which, how are you holding up?”

“What do you mean?”

Sirius sighed. “You know what I'm talking about, Harry.”

“I really don't.”

“What happened with Cedric.”

“I'm fine, Sirius. I know it's not my fault-- there was nothing I could do.”

His godfather looked at him sympathetically. “You're absolutely right. And you know what? Whatever you're feeling now is perfectly alright, too. You didn't know Cedric very well-- you may feel guilty, you might not. You might feel pressure from people to feel worse about it than you actually do, but I’d say those people can bugger off, alright? When you get back to school, you don't need to answer anyone’s questions. It was your experience and yours alone. If you want to share it, it's your decision-- not theirs.”

Harry stayed silent, taking in his words.

“Think on it. Now--” Sirius stood from the couch. “--how about we make some lunch for when Remus swings by? I don’t trust Kreacher to not poison our hot chocolates quite yet...”

 

* * *

 

It was a quarter after one when Remus finally arrived.

“Sorry that I am late-- I got caught up at my new work… There was a bit of an accident. I hadn’t had the chance to clean up for fear of being even later than I already am now.” Remus let out a weak laugh, a bit breathlessly. He seemed to be covered in _something_ that Harry couldn’t quite discern the origin of.

“No, no, it’s fine-- come in,” Sirius ushered Remus downstairs to the dining room.

“Good to see you again, Professor-- I mean, Remus.” Harry scrunched his nose. “Still feels weird calling you that.”

Remus took a seat at the end of the table next to Harry. “I suppose it will take time. But, we do have a lot of that now, don’t we?” He smiled.

Sirius walked by and slapped Remus on the back. “Lots of time to make up for, too, Moony.” He sat in the chair across from Harry. “Where are you working again, now?”

“Ah, up in Diagon Alley at the apothecary-- Slug & Jiggers.”

Sirius spoke in a soft voice. “You know, if you ever need any help--”

“I’m fine, Sirius,” said Remus, exasperated but amusement in his eyes. “I appreciate your concern, but I can’t take anything from you when you’re only just getting your own life back on track--”

Sirius shook his head. “Remus, I didn’t just inherit this house, I hope you realise. I have more gold than I know what to do with now.”

Remus turned to Harry, tilting his head. “I’m sure Harry wouldn’t complain if you spent it on him.”

Harry ducked his head, giving a half-smile.

“Oh, there’ll be plenty of time for that later,” Sirius waved him off. “I just want to make sure my best friend isn't out in the cold.”

“I'll be fine, Sirius, truly. I've been in worse situations than this before.” Sirius grimaced. “An added benefit is that I will be receiving a monthly supply of Wolfsbane from the owner every paycheque. It was written right into my contract.”

Sirius blinked in shock and broke out in a grin. “That's great, Remus.”

“Yes, they're very discreet as well. Luckily, only perhaps a tenth of London's wizarding population knows of my condition due to Snape and Peter. It saves me a lot of paperwork, to say the least.”

Harry tilted his head. “Paperwork?”

Sirius and Remus exchanged a look.

“Normally, the process of buying Wolfsbane is a long winded process--”

“I blame general prejudice against magical creatures--” Sirius interrupted.

“It is a controlled substance unless you make it yourself or know someone who can make it for you. Lots of ministry regulation around the selling and buying of it, and you essentially have to be registered as a werewolf in order to purchase it--”

“Which is ridiculous because then you’re watched like a hawk for the rest of your life. Do one spell they think is shifty? Off to Azkaban for ten years.” While Remus remained calm, Harry could tell Sirius was getting worked up over this.

Remus had a sad look in his eyes. “I understand it's all an attempt to control those rabid packs that have practically forsaken their wizarding halves. I don't blame the ministry--”

“But what would regulating the one thing that actually helps werewolves retain their sanity do to hurt anyone?” Harry puzzled, a bit annoyed.

“Harry… most people in general don't understand werewolves. Most wizards will never meet a werewolf, let alone befriend one. When we appear in the Prophet or any other newspaper, it is typically negative. People fear what they cannot understand. We never got our rights, then came along Lord Voldemort, recruiting the worst of the worst werewolves to fight for him with the promise of getting their rights. That terrifies people. It was an ‘Us or Them’ mentality that lingers to this day.”

There was a silence at the table, until Sirius set down his silverware with a clang and rose from his chair. He sighed loudly.

Harry’s appetite had left him with the topic at hand.

“Let's forget lunch and go out and do something. This place is so depressing during the day, it’s almost worse than the dementors.” Sirius widened his eyes dramatically.

When the day ran out of light and Remus parted ways with Harry and Sirius, the two finally headed home to Grimmauld Place.

At his desk, Harry finally wrote his reply to Crouch and sent it off with Hedwig into the night.

 

* * *

 

September 1st arrived with no further complications. Harry boarded the train with Hermione and Ron and set off for Hogwarts.

The train ride really wasn’t all that bad- dementors were a sure-fire way to ruin that. The questions, however, were exhausting. Harry hadn’t thought much of what Sirius had said about people asking him about the incident, but it was as if _everyone_ knew. Of course, the Quidditch World Cup was all over the papers but the Prophet in particular seemed to focus on Cedric’s death and Harry’s role in the incident. Luckily, it was still sympathetic to him. Unluckily, it seemed to paint him as the orphan boy with a life full of sorrow who yet again experienced death. To Harry’s surprise, the Quibbler seemed to believe he was some upcoming dark wizard and that he himself had helped orchestrate the attack at the World Cup. Ron told him to brush it off. (“Everyone knows the Quibbler is just gossip-mongering and conspiracy theories.”)

Crouch had taken notice and written back to Harry before he was set to return to Hogwarts. His letter was as enthusiastic as Harry could possibly imagine the man being, being thankful for his agreement and the fact that Harry was now more in the public-eye than ever before. He was even willing to go through with Harry’s conditions he had listed. They would be meeting during the first Hogsmeade weekend during October to speak to one of Crouch’s contacts at the Prophet.

Everyone had settled down and started leaving Harry alone by the end of the train ride, thankfully. Ron seemed to be in an awful mood ever since Malfoy had passed by their train car and mocked his dress robes.

By the time they reached the Hogsmeade station, it was absolutely pouring rain outside. When Harry saw Hagrid approach the group of timid first-years, his hair which had poofed up in the rain seemed to make him even bigger and, to the children, more intimidating. It was amusing to watch him lead the new students to the boats on the Black Lake.

The older students were led to the horseless carriages that were to bring them to Hogwarts. At least, they _were_ horseless.

Standing in front of each carriage were two creatures-- they were a very sore sight to the eyes. They had no fur or hair, all mottled black skin and bones in the vague form of a horse. Their eyes were all white with no pupil. Leathery wings laid on their backs. The creatures stood quiet and gloomily, their austerity only amplified by the rain. They did not seem to mind it, however. One of the creatures tried to prune its wings, and Harry heard a sound that he could only compare to a memory he had of Petunia’s purse ripping.

No one else seemed to notice them. It was deeply unsettling. As Harry waited in line for one of the carriages headed by two of the creatures, gazing in both terror and curiosity, his classmates chatted away beside him.

Ron was still sulking, so he nudged Hermione who was standing with her nose in a book.

“What are those things?”

Her brown eyes flicked upwards, following where he was pointing. “What are what things?”

“In front of the carriages--” he looked between the strange creatures and Hermione.

She blinked and looked concernedly at Harry. “I don't see anything, Harry.”

He stuttered, flustered. “Those weird things that look like horses raised from the dead? Pulling the carriages?”

Hermione put a hand on his forehead. “Are you alright?”

He pulled away. “I’m fine-- Can you just stop now? I’m serious, what are they? This isn’t funny.”

He wasn’t going mad, was he? It was raining, yes, but he could see the horse-things clear as day. Except… Hermione didn’t look like this was some convoluted joke, nor was she the type to try to play one either.

“Come on, Harry--” The line had shifted and Harry, Hermione and Ron were up next for the carriage. Harry climbed the steps and was about to enter when he felt a pull on his sleeve.

A girl with wispy blonde hair stood below him. “Could I borrow your hand?” Her voice was as airy as her appearance.

Harry had to think a moment about what she meant and offered her a lift. Ron and Hermione sat next to each other in the carriage, while Harry and the blonde girl sat across from them.

Ron was staring out the window at the rain. Hermione tried making gentle conversation with him, but after receiving multiple one word answers, she gave up.

Once they were all settled and the carriage began moving, the girl spoke. “You aren’t going mad, you know. I’m sure you’re just as sane as I am. I can see them too.”

Harry blinked rapidly and glanced out the window at the creatures once more. “Have they always been there?”

“I’ve seen them since my very first day,” she said dreamily, resting her arms on the windowpane.

Harry frowned. “But… I’ve never seen them before. And the others-- why can’t they see them?”

“Only people who have seen death can see them.”

A chord deep within Harry was struck. It stirred a deep sense of apprehensiveness inside him. “But… I’ve seen people die before-- not a lot, but--”

“Your parents,” her light eyes flitted to his scar.

Normally, he would be uncomfortable with someone immediately acknowledging his being the Boy Who Lived, but at this moment, it was a relief to not have to explain himself.

“You have to truly internalize the death. Understand it, as much as you _can_ understand death.”

Of all things, he would have thought his parents’ deaths would have been the one thing in his life that he had internalized the most. He’d felt their effects since he was one years old, whether he knew it or not. Everything he did was a result of his parents dying right in front of him that Halloween.

He had seen Quirrell's death at his own hands when he was eleven. But looking back on it now… Harry was surprised with himself, how he hadn’t really thought much of his death. It was unsettling.

He wondered if the memory of Tom Riddle counted. He had known what he was doing then, having contemplated his own killing of Quirrel beforehand. But did a memory even have a life of its own to be ripped away? … The thought left a bitter taste in Harry’s mouth.

The girl started speaking softly, startling Harry from his thoughts. “My own mother died when I was very little.”

“Was she…?”

“Yes.” The blonde looked down and started playing with the chain around her neck. It was adorned with many odd charms. Harry felt the weight of the golden locket on his chest increase.

“I just realised, I never asked your name. I suppose you already know mine, but I’m Harry.” For the second time, he held out his hand for her.

She took it in hers. “Luna.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to @dumblepoop for beta-ing.  
> Feel free to follow me on my tumblr @thelastnero.
> 
> I also posted a new crack fic recently-- the premise is Fuck Boy Voldemort in the canon-verse. Check it out if you want thirst and humor. http://archiveofourown.org/works/12147147/chapters/27561675


	9. Men of Influence

“Nothing strengthens authority so much as silence.”

-Leonardo da Vinci

 

The rain pelted against the windows in short bursts as if, in its anger, simultaneously desperate to penetrate the glass and hit the students inside.

A stubby finger traced the glass to draw a crude skull. “You hear about that Gaunt fellow?”

“Everyone knows, Avery,” said a pompous voice. “Those muggles probably deserved it. At least he did something right for once-- a mockery of a pureblood he is.”

“He’ll probably die in Azkaban, now.”

The other voice hmphed. “I would say he should be given a medal.”

There was a hum of approval in the train car.

“Say, where is,” the voice lowered, “Our Lord?”

“Meeting with the prefects and the Head Girl in the other car. We’re here though--”

The train lurched to a stop.

“Right on the mark, aren’t you?”

“As always.”

The group stepped outside of the train where it was pouring rain, the windows misted, and the crowd of students bustling with excitement.

“I’m going to get my hair wet!” screeched a voice.

“I’m sure you’ll live, Malfoy.”

They parted the crowd as they walked forward towards the horseless carriages, until they saw him.

“Riddle!”

A head turned and the boy gracefully walked over to the group, head upright despite the rain. “It appears I will be unable to accompany the rest of you in the carriages-- the Head Boy and Head Girl get their own.”

“Leaving us behind now that you’re a big shot?” 

“Well, I suppose you will just have to start keeping up better, won’t you?” Riddle’s eyes twinkled in the rain. He turned toward the carriages and froze at the sight before him.

He had read of the creatures, but never had he seen them before. He was surprised he hadn’t seen them after his fifth year. They were quite...unsettling, to say the very least. He’d go as far as to say they were filthy looking, but had their own twisted-sort of elegance. 

Riddle glanced down at the golden ring on his right hand. Its black stone had no shine, even while wet due to the rain. He looked past the thestrals as if he had never seen them and stepped into the carriage.

 

* * *

 

“Harry… Harry!”

Two hands were shaking his shoulders.

“Wake up, mate! You aren’t seriously gonna be late the first day, are you?”

Harry rubbed his eyes and looked up to see Dean Thomas leaning over him in their dorm.

“Everyone else has already gone to breakfast-- we were going to let you sleep in, but I forgot something.”

Harry leaned over to look at the clock on his bedside table. He shot up. “It's 8:30!”

“That's what I’m saying!” Dean laughed. “Defense is in a half hour and something tells me Professor Moody isn't gonna be the friendly sort.”

Harry stood from his bed and hastened to go take a shower. As he stepped out, he saw the rest of his roommates had returned back from breakfast with their books gathered.

“Feast is over, Harry,” said Neville sheepishly. “Brought you back this,” he handed Harry a muffin.

“Well, at least I won’t starve,” he laughed. “Thanks, Neville.”

Neville nodded back and started gathering his books. 

Ron stepped into the dorm room, holding a copy of the  _ Prophet _ under his arm. “Percy’s gonna have a field day with this.”

“With what?” Harry asked as he gathered his supplies for defense. He pulled his copy of  _ The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protectio _ n out of his trunk, only for another book to be pulled out and skid across the floor under his bed. He sighed and laid on his stomach in order to look for it.  He brought out his wand and pointed it under the bed.

“Lumos--” Whereas his wand should have emitted a light, a bang split the air and Harry hit the top of his head against his bed. “Ugh--”

“What the hell was that?” said Ron, dropping the newspaper on Harry’s bed and rushing over. “Are you alright?”

“My wand just-- I don’t know,” Harry said as he crawled out from under his bed and sat up.

“Didn’t break it, did you?”

Harry gave his wand a perplexed look. “No, I don’t think so.”

Ron frowned. “Well, maybe it was a one-off thing. Wouldn’t want you to have a year like my second year. What were you doing down there anyways?”

“Something went under my bed.”

“Here,” Ron held out his wand.  “ _ Lumos _ . You can borrow mine.”

Harry took the willow wand cautiously and peeked under his bed. He could see the outline of a small, leather book in the shadows. Something tugged him toward the book and he was reaching out for it before he could even think. Suddenly, he realised what was happening. 

It was the diary. He now laid spread out on the floor, his arm outstretched and he wished he could have just left the book under the bed. But Ron was still looking at him, he could feel it.

Harry could have  _ sworn _ he put the diary at the very bottom of his trunk, in a fabric lined compartment that no one would open unless they were specifically looking for it. It had moved. There was no other possible explanation. The question was  _ how _ ?

He took the diary in his hand, flipped over so the gold lettering of the name that had caused so much strife would be hidden when he brought it out. Sitting upright once more, he stuffed it in the bottom of his trunk.

Handing the wand back to Ron, Harry said, “Thanks. Now what were you talking about earlier?”

Ron gave him an odd look and picked up the newspaper to show him. The headline instantly grabbed his eye.

“ _ TERROR AT THE WORLD CUP- THE END OF FUDGE’S TYRANNY?”  _ A black and white moving photograph of the Dark Mark was side by side with a rather unflattering photo of the Minister.

“That reminds me--” Harry started to speak, before looking at the time again. 8:50. “Actually, I’ll tell you later.”

“Yeah, we better get going.”

 

* * *

 

“You won’t be needing your books, so put those away.”

Professor Moody was an odd character, Harry thought. He never seemed to quit moving, even when it appeared he was standing still. Very twitchy.

The class seemed excited at least.

“Now, I’ve received a letter from your previous professor, Mr. Lupin. He’s informed me of where you are, and what you need to learn.” His voice was was very abrupt, to say the least. “It looks as though you are all up to date on dark creatures, but in my opinion, you are dreadfully behind on dark curses. I have one year to teach you all how to defend yourselves, so if there are not any questions, it would be wise to begin--”

“What, aren’t you staying?” Ron blurted out.

Moody gave Ron a look, as if his glass eye was looking through him. “I am here as a favor to Dumbledore, after which I will return to my quiet retirement. And don’t think I am not aware of the jinx set on this job. Now,” he clapped his scarred hands together. “Curses. Normally, the ministry would not allow me to teach you these until your sixth year,” he scribbled words on the board, “But Dumbledore has given me permission to teach you what illegal curses look like, reckons you can cope, and I believe it is best to get a jumpstart on the enemy as soon as possible. I also believe it would be best  _ if you could find another place to put your gum, Mr. Finnegan _ \--”

Seamus blanched in horror, while his fellow Gryffindors murmured around him.

A voice muttered mockingly. “ _ I believe _ it would be best if we actually had a competent teacher for once.”

“That’s enough out of you, Mr. Malfoy-- since you’re so keen to speak, could you give me an example of an illegal curse?”

Malfoy humphed and leaned back in his chair. “The Imperius.”

“Yes, yes, you and your father would know all about that one, wouldn’t you…” Moody wrote ‘THE IMPERIUS CURSE’ on the board. 

He reached into a glass jar and dangled a spider from its leg in front of the class. “Imperio.”

Moody’s demonstration had sufficiently amused and frightened the whole class, but Harry only watched in puzzlement. He had sworn he’d heard this curse before… except he couldn’t quite pinpoint the source. He hadn’t heard it during the world cup, but he had no idea what other kind of person would try to use an illegal curse. Certainly not one of his classmates.

He noticed a few but not a lot of other students with the same expression as he, including Malfoy. Feeling eyes on him, Malfoy looked up and glared at Harry.

“Anyone else know one? Another illegal curse?” Moody said gruffly.

A few hands raised, including Hermione’s, but Harry was most surprised to see Neville’s hand in the air. Moody himself seemed surprised as well, but averted his eyes.

“Zabini?”

“The Cruciatus curse, sir,” said Blaise in a monotone.

Neville sank deep into his chair.

“Ah, yes… the torture curse. Frequently used back when Lord Voldemort was still at large.” Many students flinched. “Back then, it was legal for aurors to use the Unforgivable Curses. Some would argue it was necessary. Why deny ourselves the tools our enemies had, after all.” The three words ‘'THE CRUCIATUS CURSE’ appeared in chalk on the board.

“Did… did you ever use it, Professor?” asked Hermione, eyebrows furrowed.

“Indeed I did.” Neville seemed to pale beside Harry. “Only when it was necessary, of course. Death Eaters spared no mercy to us, neither did we to them. If we had caught someone, you’d best bet we would attempt to get  _ every last bit _ of information out of them.

“They, of course, did the same to us. Many would argue they started it, or the other way around, but it happened either way.”

The class had gone quiet.

“Now… does anyone have an idea of what the final unforgivable curse is?”

No one seemed very inclined to speak, but a thought hit Harry. The spell that hit Cedric-- if that wasn’t unforgivable… he didn’t know what else could be. He slowly raised his hand, the class looking at him.

“Yes?” said Moody, raising his eyebrows at the sight of Harry.

“... Avada Kedavra. The… killing curse?” Harry said slowly. A few of his classmates gave him sympathetic looks, while others just stared in horror.

“Ah… yes… the last and the worst-- the killing curse. A curse I’m sure you’ve seen more times in your life than comfortable, Mr. Potter. That is the harsh truth of the world, I’m afraid.”

Professor Moody reached for the spider in the glass jar once more, the spider recoiling as though it knew what would happen next. Moody dangled it by its leg once more in front of the class before performing the spell.

“Avada Kedavra.”

Green light flooded the room, reminding Harry so much of that night on the hill--  how Cedric had fallen over him, the glazed look in his eyes. It was over so quickly and so insignificantly. One second-- two words.

“The killing curse requires one thing above all else, and that is  _ intent _ . All of the unforgivable curses do, but Avada Kedavra moreso. I doubt any of you could so much as summon sparks while attempting it.” Moody paced the board, writing the final curse, before turning. “There is no defense. None. You are hit, you are dead. Only one person is known to have survived the killing curse.”

Harry didn't have to look up to know everyone was staring at him.

Moody cleared his throat. “Now, you might be asking yourselves why I’m bothering to teach you this if it cannot be defended against. To that, I’d say a keen sense of awareness is your best weapon against the unknown. Ignorance is dangerous, and complacency is the perfect condition for it to breed right under your noses! Constant vigilance!”

 

* * *

 

“I’m not sure I quite approve of his method of teaching,” said Hermione as they exited the class. “Scaring half the class to death.”

“Well, people are probably gonna be scared no matter what.” Ron shrugged. “It’s the Unforgivables.”

“Still, Ron-- people like Harry and Neville who literally had the curses put on their parents, it’s insensitive,” she huffed.

“Wait, what happened with Neville?” asked Harry.

Hermione looked as though she were about to say something but stopped. “You’d have to ask him-- I read about it, but… I don’t think he’d want everyone knowing.”

It was then that Harry’s stomach started growling. He looked down sheepishly.

Hermione had a look of realization on her face. “Oh right, you missed breakfast.”

“I’ll be fine. Won’t be the first time I’ve missed a meal.”

Hermione looked down at the floor. “You and Ron both have a free period next, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” said Harry. 

“Come on,” she started walking faster and turned down a hallway away from their route to Gryffindor Tower.

“Where are we going?”

“The kitchens, of course. If you’d read  _ Hogwarts: A History _ \--”

“Hermione, any reason I would have ever had to read that book disappeared with how often you mention it now,” Ron grumbled.

“It would do you well to read recreationally more often, Ron. It might improve your grades for one…”

“Won’t you be late for your own class though, Hermione?” Harry cocked his head.

“Oh, I’ll make it in time, I’m sure,” she waved him off. Odd.

“I can't understand how you keep taking so many classes every year Hermione. I couldn't live without free periods,” said Ron.

“Oh, I could never do what I did last year again. The amount of stress was affecting my grades in the end. I dropped Divination this year.”

“That's still two extra classes,” Ron exaggerated.

“I survived last year, this year can only be easier in comparison. I almost dropped Muggle Studies too, but Professor Burbage convinced me it would be smart to see how wizards view muggles too, especially considering… Um,  recent events.”

They all knew what she was talking about, but didn't speak a word. Hermione led the two down a set of stairs to a long hallway. She stopped in front of the painting of a bowl of fruit.

Ron seemed confused. “Why are we here?”

“As I was saying earlier, in  _ Hogwarts: A History _ , it says there is a painting that allows you into the kitchens if you tickle the pear. I haven’t tried it myself yet but--”

Ron snickered. “ _ Tickle the pear. _ ”

“Oh, come off it, Ronald,” she huffed. She reached towards the painting and tickled the pear on the painting which squirmed and giggled under her touch. The painting swung open as if it was a door.

Inside was definitely a kitchen, a wood oven against a wall, fire crackling, counters full of various dishes. What instantly drew Harry’s attention was the sheer amount of movement within. House elves moved every which way preparing food, sweeping, stoking the fire. It made him dizzy.

Suddenly, a familiar voice cried out. “Harry Potter, sir!” A small body threw itself at his legs, hugging him.

Harry’s eyes opened wide in bewilderment. “Dobby?”

“It is Dobby, sir,” the elf said excitedly, not letting go of Harry. “Dobby was hoping he could see Harry Potter, and here Harry Potter appears.”

Harry sputtered. “What are you doing here, Dobby?”

“Dobby has come to work at Hogwarts, sir,” he unlatched himself from Harry’s legs. “Professor Dumbledore offered Dobby and Winky jobs.”

“Really? That’s wonderful, Dobby!” enthused Hermione. “Every elf should be able to be paid for their work.”

Dobby seemed embarrassed, but thankful nonetheless for the praise. “Thank you, Miss Granger. Winky is not so happy, Dobby is afraid.”

Hermione seemed genuinely confused. “Why wouldn’t she be? She doesn’t have to work for Crouch anymore, she can do whatever she wants,” she said, recalling the information Harry had told her of the world cup.

“Winky is not adjusting well to being free. Winky wants to go back to her old Master, but cannot. Dobby has been trying to help, but Winky is forgetting she no longer has a Master.”

The other elves who had seen so excited to see them were now slightly shifting away from Dobby.

“Where is Winky?” asked Ron.

Dobby went quiet. “Winky is…” He looked around the room at the other elves, as if afraid of what they might hear. “Would Harry Potter and his friends like some tea?”

The trio exchanged looks amongst themselves.

“It’s about time I started getting to class, but thank you Dobby,” said Hermione. She nodded to Harry and Ron as she walked out the portrait-door. “See you two later.”

“See ya, Hermione,” said Ron. “And yeah, I think we could go for some tea.”

“Oh,” Harry added. “Do you have any leftovers from breakfast? I overslept this morning.”

Dobby rushed to meet their requests and Harry found himself in the middle of an array of breakfast foods.

“This is a bit much, Dobby,” Harry laughed, a bit overwhelmed.

“I’ll help you, mate,” Ron said, reaching over to grab a treacle tart off a platter. 

Dobby still remained quiet and fidgety the entire time they ate. When they had finished, Harry thanked Dobby and asked him if he was alright.

Dobby shifted from foot to foot. “Dobby is just worried about Winky, is all.”

“Is something else going on?” Harry furrowed his brow. The elf looked as though he was about to speak again, but stopped, and gestured toward the back of the painting they entered through.

Once they were in the hallways, Dobby broke down crying, his huge eyes almost bulging out of his red face. “Winky is-- Dobby can’t do anything--”

“What’s wrong?” Harry stooped to his knees and Dobby flung himself at him.

“Dobby thinks Winky is trying to get fired. Winky is only working at Hogwarts for a week and Winky is off getting drunk and Dobby is having to take care of her and hope the other elves do not tell--”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “House elves can get drunk?”

“They can’t drink as much as wizards,” said Ron, frowning. ”Probably drank butterbeer or something.”

“Yes, Winky is drinking butterbeer and is feeling sickly the next days and Winky’s work suffers. Winky is not happy and Dobby is not knowing what to do--” Dobby hiccuped.

Harry thought back to his old life on Privet Drive and how his uncle would act when he was drunk. He wasn’t an alcoholic, but he definitely drank quite a bit. It was never a pleasant experience being around Vernon but when he was drunk, he was ten times worse.

“Have you tried keeping her away from anything that could… you know, make her worse?” Harry offered.

“Dobby has tried, but he can’t be with Winky all the time. Winky is very sneaky,” he sniffed.

“Maybe she should go to Madam Pomfrey,” said Ron, obviously uncomfortable with the situation. “Sounds like she’s addicted.” 

“No, no, Winky mustn’t,” Dobby shook his head vigorously. “If Winky goes, Winky will be fired, Dobby knows it! That is what Winky wants and when Winky is away from Hogwarts and without work, Winky will die.”

With those words, it truly hit Harry what the other elf was probably trying to do.

He swallowed a lump down his throat. “I don’t what I can do to help but… I’m going to be meeting her old master, Mr. Crouch next month. I can try to get him to take her back, but I can’t make any promises. Or maybe I can just get something of his, so she isn’t completely depressed?”

Dobby met Harry’s eyes, and he gushed tears once more. “Any help would be much appreciated, Harry Potter, sir. Harry Potter is so kind--” Once again, he hugged Harry’s legs, sobbing into his trousers.

 

* * *

 

When it was twenty minutes before their next class started, Harry and Ron decided to head back to Gryffindor Tower.

“Hey,” said Ron as they were walking. “What did you mean when you said you were gonna see Crouch? Did he actually offer you a job?”

“Sort of. You know how he’s trying to get Fudge to step down right?”

Ron snorted. “Like Percy ever talks about anything else.”

“Well, he’s wanting my help to convince the papers and all that he’s a good pick for minister.”

Ron scrunched his nose. “Crouch? You know how many laws he probably wants to pass just to make our lives miserable?”

“I mean, I set some conditions to helping him.” They had stopped in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady who was letting another group of Gryffindor’s into the common room.  “I’m not gonna support him if he, I don’t know, wants to make us all wear dress robes and ties all the time.”

“Oh god, I hope not,” said Ron in horror, his eyes widening. Harry could almost see him having flashbacks to the dress robes he had received from his mother. 

He ducked inside the common room, Ron following behind him. “But we’ll see how it turns out in the end, I guess.” 

 

* * *

 

A month passed pretty easily. Harry learned the typical things in his classes, with the exception of Defense Against the Dark Arts where Moody was still fixated on the Unforgivable Curses. For the last couple weeks, he had been casting the Imperius on students in order to teach the class how to fight it. Surprisingly or maybe unsurprisingly, only Harry was initially able to do so successfully. At least he was doing well in defense-- he didn’t know why, but he began to struggle with his other classes. Hermione had put it off as their fourth year being more difficult, but it wasn’t just that Harry had difficulty learning new spells. The incident with his wand that one morning repeated itself several times. 

What was worse was sometimes things would happen when he wasn’t even deliberately casting a spell. It almost felt like accidental magic, but Harry had been assured by Professor McGonagall that that typically ended once a wizard got their first wand and their magic became grounded. His problems still persisted, to which she had no explanation. It worried him, to be perfectly honest. 

In October, the other schools had finally arrived for the Triwizard Tournament. The Goblet of Fire was to be available the Eve of Halloween and the names would be drawn on Halloween at the feast. Harry had heard rumors of all the people who were planning on putting their name in, including Gryffindor Angelina Johnson and Slytherin Cassius Warrington. He recognized both names from Quidditch.

The first Hogsmeade weekend was to be held on Saturday the 29th. Harry would be meeting Crouch at the Three Broomsticks that afternoon and meeting up with Ron and Hermione later on. 

While this wasn’t the first time he had ever stepped foot in Hogsmeade, it was the first time he could so without the stealth of his invisibility cloak. Of course, people did look at him but no more than he was used to. 

Hogsmeade was bustling with activity, the heat of it all melting the snow from the night before into slush under their feet. Harry made his way into Hogsmeade alongside Ron and Hermione, but broke off when they passed The Three Broomsticks and entered.

In the dim lighting, wizards danced and talked, sat at tables and bars drinking butterbeer and drinks which may or may not have been firewhiskey. Harry saw many of his classmates and a few called out to him while he glanced about the establishment looking for Crouch. He waved but didn’t make to sit down until he saw the stiff-backed politician sitting awkwardly in a booth. He made his way over and sat across from Crouch.

“Afternoon, sir,” Harry nodded to Crouch.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Potter,” said Crouch. “I trust you have been doing well, even in the aftermath of the Quidditch World Cup?”

Harry cringed inwardly a little bit. “It would be a lot easier to forget about it if the  _ Prophet _ hadn’t started making everyone ask me about it. Although,” he paused. “It probably will only help you more.”

“Yes, well, it is rather to your favor as well that the public has decided to place their sympathies with you rather than against you,” Crouch gave Harry a pointed look. “I believe you underestimate the power of publicity, Mr. Potter. If we could all have an objective source of news, we would all leap toward it in a heartbeat. Today, simply getting the news covered at all is a miracle. The  _ Daily Prophet _ is so intertwined with Ministry overhead, many things have been hidden from the public.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed that at least,” said Harry, remembering an incident he and Sirius had had when he was first released. “People still look at Sirius like he’s a criminal.”

“A weak attempt by Fudge to maintain his position when he has proven himself unfit for it,” Crouch said coldly. He waved down Madam Rosmerta as she passed by their booth.

She raised an eyebrow at the both of them. “What can I get you two, gentlemen?”

Crouch gave their order. “Please bring out a bottle of Dragon Barrel Brandy, two glasses. We are expecting another guest.” He turned to Harry expectantly.

“Ah-- a glass of butterbeer, thanks.”

“It’ll be just a moment,” said Madam Rosmerta before turning on her sparkly red heels towards the backroom.

Crouch watched her, blank-faced, as she walked away before turning back to Harry. “My contact from the Daily Prophet will arrive shortly. If you have any questions, now would be the time to ask.”

“Alright,” said Harry. “What exactly are they going to be asking about?”

“Mostly your opinion on recent events, particularly in relation to the Minister. Barnabas is a good friend of mine and the editor-in-chief for the Daily Prophet,” Crouch said in his ever-clipped voice. “Simply the fact that he is writing it, the article will get much attention.”

“Also… sir, I was just wondering. Not to offend you or anything, but how will I know you’ll…” Harry looked from side to side.

“Uphold my promise?” said Crouch, completely unshaken. He didn’t seem to be offended in the slightest. “A private magical contract, of course. It is how things of this nature are always done. Neither of us will be able to break it upon us agreeing upon terms.”

“Okay-- also, there, uh… was something else I wanted to ask you about,” Harry said hesitantly. He thought back to his conversation with Dobby a month prior. “You remember that house elf you had? Winky?”

“I remember,” Crouch said curtly.

Harry didn’t know how to lead into it subtly, so he just said it outright. “She’s working at Hogwarts now, but she isn’t doing very well.”

“That is her punishment, after all.”

“Well, isn’t that a bit extreme?” said Harry. “I mean, I don’t expect you to take her back, but isn’t cutting her completely loose and letting her be miserable cruel?”

“Mr. Potter,” Crouch said slowly. “House elves live for only one thing-- service to wizards. For one to fail is to sacrifice their life itself. The act is equivalent to perhaps murder in wizarding society and should be treated accordingly.”

“She was so upset to fail though. She didn’t mean to fail you, that is nowhere near close to murder--”

“It is not wise nor correct to hold another creature to the same standards we hold ourselves to. What is acceptable and unacceptable to us may not be the case for house elves and vice versa.” Crouch gave Harry a penetrating look. “I understand that you were not raised in wizarding society, so you do not fully comprehend how these creatures live.”

Harry sighed. “Well, can’t you make it more bearable somehow for her? Show a bit of sympathy even for committing the house elf equivalent of murder?” 

Crouch began massaging his temples. Slowly, he pulled out a handkerchief from his shirt pocket. “Give this to her.” He handed the fabric over to Harry, who put it into his pocket.

“Thank you, sir.”

Crouch gave a murmur in what Harry could only assume was assent. “I believe my guest has now arrived.” He stood to wave over a white-haired man in fine robes.

As he walked over, Harry’s instant thought was that he looked liked a beardless Father Christmas, red cheeks, jolly disposition and all. He even had a black satchel on his hip, although Harry doubted it had any presents in it. He sat next to Crouch and it was amusing to see the sheer difference in their appearances and personalities.

The man put an arm around Crouch’s shoulders. “Barty! ‘Ow ya doing, you old codger-- and this must be ‘Arry Potter, innit?” The man turned to Harry and stuck out a flushed hand. “Barnabas Cuffe, at yer service!”

Harry took his hand and felt like his elbow was about to be ripped out of its socket with the force of Cuffe’s handshake. “Good to meet you too, sir.” He smiled politely.

It was then that Madam Rosmerta swung by their table with drinks. “If you three need anything, give a holler.” She retreated to another table.

“Us at the Prophet ‘ave ‘eard ‘bout what ‘appened at the world cup-- awful, that was, a boy your age ‘xperiencing something like that.” Cuffe shook his head despondently.

“Truly awful,” said Crouch blankly as he poured Cuffe and himself a glass of the brandy the table had been served. “However, I am sure he has heard enough of that as is, and this is a business call rather than a social one.”

“Alright, alright, Barty. You doing yer contract first?”

“Yes, if you will.”

“Alright,” Cuffe took out his wand and pointed it at Crouch first. “ _ Licet verbum _ .” A small golden ball of light floated toward Crouch, thready and glowing.

“Within the conditions of this contract, I will aid Harry Potter in any ministerial pursuit he may wish. Upon his graduation of Hogwarts, I will offer him the role of Senior Undersecretary, provided I am Minister of Magic.” He stopped speaking and the golden ball of thread hummed.

Cuffe slowly pointed his wand at Harry, the threads of the spell following to form a link between the light in front of Crouch and the newly formed ball of light in front of him.

The two older men looked at Harry expectantly and Harry carefully thought out his words before speaking. “Within the conditions of this contract, I will publicly support Bartemius Crouch becoming Minister.” The gold ball of thread shifted and hummed once he had finished.

Crouch didn’t say anything, merely taking a sip of his brandy.

“ _ Finite incantatem _ .” The two balls of thread flew together between them, then disappeared with a _ pop _ . Harry felt a wave of warmth wash over him and saw Crouch glow gold for a second.

“Now that we’ve settled that bit o’ business, we can go on the record,” said Cuffe, turning to Harry.

Harry took a sip of his drink. “Alright,” he said.

Cuffe summoned a quill from his satchel along with parchment to go with it. “Now, Mr. Potter, these ‘ave been trying times as o’ late. You yerself ‘ave been witness to multiple tragedies in your lifetime, one o’ which most recent,” Cuffe’s quill flew across the parchment as he spoke without any input from its master. Harry was a bit intimidated. “In the aftermath o’ the Quidditch World Cup, ‘ow do you feel?”

How  _ did _ he feel? Maybe he should have thought through some answers beforehand. “At first, I definitely felt guilty. Like, somehow Cedric Diggory’s death was my fault and that I could have done something to help him.”

“But could ya ‘ave?”

“I-- no. And that’s the worst of it. The whole situation was just helpless. Everyone was running everywhere and everyone got separated and there was no one near to help. It was just chaos.”

“Can ya describe some of the things ya saw?”

Harry paused and several images floated through his head. “I didn’t exactly see it, but everything started with a bang- two bangs. There were these wizards messing with some of the muggles who had been working outside the event-- honestly, the whole thing was sick. A lot of us ran into the woods, but that’s how we got separated. Someone had conjured fiendfyre and it was tearing up the entire forest.”

“And ‘ow do ya think the whole situation was handled by the ministry?”

“It was really disorganized,” Harry frowned. “I mean, I don’t remember seeing a single auror until the Dark Mark appeared. When those wizards were terrorizing the main campsite, there were a few trying to separate them but honestly I was surprised at how badly it was handled.”

“Do ya think this is representative of the current state o’ the ministry?”

“Not just the current state, but the state for the last 5 years or so. I’m not going to say I know everything that has occurred in all this time, but I’ve seen and heard enough to know that a lot of shady dealings have been going on,” Harry rolled his eyes. “The issue with my Godfather, for one.”

“Ah yes, Sirius Black, just recently exonerated. Many ‘ad been shocked to ‘ear ‘e received no trial and was sent straight to Azkaban.” Under both Crouch  _ and _ Fudge’s ruling, Harry thought to himself but stayed quiet. “‘Ow was ‘is actual trial ‘eld?”

“It doesn't help when the Minister of Magic himself is so biased he attempts to turn the trial on its head, even when the jury votes in favor of the defense.”

Cuffe seemed to get excited and leaned in closer. “We’ve yet to ‘ave an actual witness from the trial speak o’ what really ‘appened and ‘ave ‘ad to rely on rumors. What really ‘appened?”

“Basically, Fudge testified against Sirius. Which is fine, I guess, he just wasn’t convincing whatsoever. The jury voted in favor of Sirius’ innocence and Fudge threw a fit like a child, accusing people of conspiring against him. I think that just goes to show how insecure he is of his own position. If today he’s trying to obstruct justice because of his own ego, what will be next?” That was a bit of a stretch, but Harry had no idea on how to talk up Crouch.

“That’s a very good point, Mr. Potter. There’s been pushing now the Minister to step down, but I’ve ‘eard from several sources there’s to be a trial o’ Displacement in the next coming month. A few candidates ‘ave already declared themselves, including Rufus Scrimgeour, ‘Ead of the Auror Office, and Bartemius Crouch, ‘Ead of the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Some ‘ave even pushed for Albus Dumbledore to attempt to displace the Minister ‘imself.” Cuffe gave Harry a knowing look. “What’s your opinion of all this?”

“As soon as Fudge gets out of office the better. I’m pretty sure Dumbledore won’t be stepping down from Headmaster to become Minister any time soon.” He paused, as if thinking. “I honestly think our best option is Mr. Crouch. In order to clean up Fudge’s mess, we’ll need a firm hand and someone with a strong sense of order.” He was happy that Cuffe and Crouch couldn’t see him inwardly cringe at his words. “In all my experiences with him, he’s proven to be extremely capable and genuinely concerned with upholding the law, rather than going on power-trips like Fudge.”

“I see. Any last comments?” Cuffe swivelled his brandy in its glass and took a big gulp of it.

“I think that’s it.”

Cuffe smiled down at him. “Well, then it was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Potter.” 

Harry was then politely dismissed by Crouch and Cuffe, for which he should have been annoyed to have been kicked out so soon, but in reality, he was grateful he wouldn’t have to stick around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to @dumblepoop for beta-ing and @angelofmysteries for plot help <3  
> Feel free to follow me on tumblr @thelastnero. I might possibly take requests. I will answer any asks you want to post too <3
> 
> Thank you for your comments and kudos <3


	10. In the Grey of Night

“The future is uncertain but the end is always near.”

-Jim Morrison

 

The next day, everyone was babbling in excitement once the Goblet of Fire had been brought out. It was definitely amusing seeing Fred and George and other underage students try to put their names in, but the luster eventually wore off. Most people were only interested in who was actually going to become Hogwarts’ champion.

The students from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons had integrated themselves into Hogwarts just fine. Harry often caught Ron staring both at the esteemed Krum and some part-veela girl.

Hermione was a lot less impressed. “She must think she’s all that, just because she’s pretty. That won’t help for anything in the Triwizard Tournament.”

“So what?” said Ron, eyes unwavering from the blonde girl across the room. Hermione scoffed.

“Sorry Ron, but I think she’s a bit out of your league. You might try Krum, though,” Harry laughed.

“Oh, shut it,” the redhead mumbled before turning back to his lunch and angrily stabbing a piece of chicken with his fork.

It was then that the post came in, owls soaring through the great hall to deliver their mail. A tawny barn owl swooped in front of Harry, dropping a small package in front of him.

“What is it?” asked Ron.

Harry shrugged and tore open the package unceremoniously. Inside was a note tied around a small, handleless mirror.

_Harry,_

_Use it if you ever need me or just want to talk. This is your father’s old two-way mirror-- I have the other one. We used to use them when we were in separate detentions. Just tap it and say my name._

_Sirius_

Something… of his father’s? He put the note down and examined the mirror curiously. “Two-way mirror from Sirius.”

“Really?” Hermione leaned over to look. “I’ve never heard of that before.”

“I’ve heard of people enchanting stuff like that with a Protean charm,” said Ron before swallowing down some pumpkin juice. “You have to be a pretty good wizard to make one that works though.”

“Well, they did make the Marauder’s Map. Apparently this was my dad’s.”

“That was very thoughtful of Sirius,” Hermione smiled.

Harry could almost imagine the trouble his father and Sirius might have gotten up to in their school days with the cloak, the map, and that mirror. He snorted quietly to himself and reached down to put the mirror safely in his bag.

“Oi, Harry--” A voice across the table called. Harry turned his head to see Seamus leaning over, a newspaper in hand. “Might wanna read this-- you’re in it.”

_FUDGE’S LAST DAYS? HARRY POTTER AND OTHERS TELL ALL!_

_Everyone knows our Minister, Cornelius Fudge, has had some trying days as of late. Some have pointed their fingers at the trial of exonerated Sirius Black, while others his handling of the Quidditch World Cup and its numerous fatalities. But can he be redeemed? Join us as we interview many of the people whose lives have been affected by the man’s actions._

Following the introduction were two other interviews conducted with people whose names Harry did not recognize, with his own interview last. Gotta pull them in somehow, he thought to himself.

 

* * *

 

During the Halloween feast, the names were to be called for the champions of the Triwizard Tournament. The Great Hall was speaking excitedly in anticipation and most students were speculating rather than actually eating. The judges from the ministry had arrived in the form of Ludo Bagman and Barty Crouch.

“I just hope it’s a Gryffindor,” said Ron, his eyes darting between his food and the Goblet of Fire, whose blue flames were now licking at its rim.

The moment Dumbledore rose from the staff’s table and approached the Goblet, the Great Hall went silent. Madam Maxime and Igor Karkaroff stood beside him.

“It appears the Goblet has almost finished making its decisions.” Dumbledore said, his voice echoing through the entire room without need of a sonorus spell. “It will only be a moment more. Now, when the champions’ names are called, I would ask that the champion walk toward the staff table and enter through the next chamber where you will receive your next instructions.”

Dumbledore waved his wand and all the floating candles were snuffed out, enveloping the hall in complete darkness except for the light of the Goblet of Fire. Suddenly, the fire’s blue burned into red and jumped high, sparks flying out of it.

A single charred piece of parchment lept out of the Goblet and into Dumbledore’s hand.

“The champion for Durmstrang,” he read off the slip of paper, “will be Viktor Krum!”

“No surprises there,” said Ron, over the cheering of the Durmstrang students and the other schools alike.

Krum rose from his seat where the Durmstrang students had been sitting next to the Slytherins. He slouched as he walked over to Dumbledore and shook his hand, before walking past the staff’s table and into the next room.

Another slip of paper flew into Dumbledore’s poised hand.

“The champion for Beauxbatons,” he started dramatically, “will be Fleur Delacour.”

The blonde girl Ron and the rest of Hogwarts had been eyeing up stood gracefully and walked to the staff’s table.

“Hey, it’s your girlfriend, Ron,” said Harry.

“They look so disappointed,” Hermione giggled, nodding toward the other Beauxbaton girls. Some of them were crying.

When Fleur had disappeared into the Great Hall’s second chamber, the noise died down. This was the moment most of Hogwarts had been waiting for. The anticipation in the air was almost palpable.

The Goblet of Fire’s flames turned red one more and another slip of paper flew into Dumbledore’s outstretched hand.

“The champion for Hogwarts... will be Cassius Warrington!”

Dead silence.

Harry was speechless, and, evidently, so were many of his classmates. Students at the other tables started clapping and unenthusiastically cheering only out of sheer politeness. No table was as loud as the Slytherins, who were whistling and yelling in happiness. Despite this, the celebration lacked the reverberating cheers the previous champions had elicited. The Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students looked confused as to the lack of enthusiasm from all the tables.

A bulky boy with dirty blonde hair rose from the Slytherin table and strided toward the staff table without a glance back. Harry recognized him as Slytherin’s Chaser.

“A Slytherin?!” whisper-yelled Ron looking positively horrified.

Dumbledore was still smiling as Warrington walked past him, tall and proud, into the other chamber.

The room went quiet when he clapped his hands together. “Wonderful! Now then, as we now have our champions, I am sure I can count on all of the students to do their best to support your champions in the upcoming trials--”

The blue fire started flickering again, its hue changing to red once more. Sparks sprayed out of it from all sides. A large flame licked out, a piece of parchment on its tip.

Dumbledore reached out for it and opened the slip.

He read out the name, “Harry Potter.”

There was no applause.

 

* * *

 

When Harry went back to Gryffindor tower, everyone was excited and asking him how he did it and no one would believe him when he said it wasn't him. Lee Jordan had unearthed a huge Gryffindor banner and draped it around an unwilling Harry and the older students had brought out butterbeer and firewhiskey and other food, but he had wanted no part of the celebration.

He’d tried to find Ron or Hermione in the common room for some sort of support, but could find neither of them. Eventually, after brushing off an over-excited Colin Creevey, he returned to his dorm room.

Inside the dorm, he found Ron lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling.

“Where’ve you been?” asked Harry as he attempted to unknot the banner that was still draped around him like a cape.

“Around,” Ron drawled, eyeing the banner. “I guess I should be congratulating you, shouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know, I mean-- not really.”

Ron raised an eyebrow. “You were the only one to get past the age line. Without anyone’s help, either,” he added resentfully.

Harry blinked. “I didn’t put my name in.” He was able to untie the banner and take it off, but felt the heavy golden chain around his neck slip out from his robes. “Someone else did it.”

“Why would they do that for?”

“I dunno,” he said sarcastically. “To try to kill me?” He fingered the locket’s emeralds as he stared down Ron on the bed next to his.

Ron narrowed his eyes and frowned. “You could have told me how you did it--”

Harry clenched the locket in his fist. “I didn’t do it in the first place, Ron,” he bit out.

“Why are you lying?”

Harry rose to his feet. “ _I’m not lying!”_ He raised his voice.

“Really? You sure are acting like someone trying to hide… well, something!”

Just then, the door to the dormitory opened.

“H-hey, you can’t go in there,” came Neville’s voice from outside the door.

“Watch me--” and in waltzed Hermione with a very determine look on her face. “Harry, grab your cloak.”

Harry huffed and grabbed his winter cloak from where it was dangling over his trunk, eager to just get away before he started… He didn’t know how to finish that thought. “Where are we going?”

“Not that one-- _the other one_ ,” she said pointedly, looking over her shoulder and shutting the door behind her.

“What are you guys doing?” said Ron as he leaned up from his bed.

“Harry and I are going to find out who put his name in the Goblet of Fire,” Hermione said matter-of-factly.

“We already know who did that,” Ron snapped.

“You know as well as I do that Harry wouldn’t put his name in, Ron.”

Ron grumbled to himself and fell back into his bed.

“And how exactly are we going to find out?” asked Harry.

Hermione walked over and sat on his bed, pulling a golden necklace out of her shirt. It had a heavy, linked chain and a golden disk with what looked like an hourglass inside attached to a movable ring.

“This is a time-turner.”

“Hold on, what?” Ron bolted upright, eyes wide.

Hermione rolled her eyes and continued, “This is what I’d been using all of last year and now this year to get to my classes.”

“I _knew_ you couldn't possibly be in all of those classes at once--”

“But I _was_ ,” Hermione raised an eyebrow.

“This lets you travel through time?” Harry asked, flabbergasted. If so, then could he…?

“Harry, I know what you’re going to ask, but we can’t go back in time and change the past,” her eyes went soft. “Awful things happen to wizards who meddle with time. Professor McGonagall made me promise to never use it except for school, but…” She bit her lip. “This is technically school-related, isn’t it? I’m sure this will affect your ability to do your classes, Harry.”

Any hope that had been fired up within Harry had been doused just as quickly and he suddenly felt tired from the tidal waves of emotions he had just been dragged through. He rubbed his eyes. “If we can’t go back and change the past, then what’s the point? My name would still be entered and I’d still have to go through with the tournament.”

Hermione sighed. “We could see who put your name in in the first place and tell Professor Dumbledore. _Something_ is going on here. Maybe he’ll be able to figure it out. If we’re going to go, we need to go quickly-- The time turner can only go back 24 hours and we can only stay in the past for 5 hours.”

“And what will happen when that time is up?”

“We’ll come straight back to the present-- it’s like apparating. I’ve never went back further than 5 hours before, but it should be possible.” Hermione’s voice quickened with urgency. “What’s most important is that we don’t be seen by anyone.”

“Well, yeah, I can’t imagine being seen by the person who’s trying to kill me in the first place would go over too well,” said Harry under his breath.

“Not just that-- if we’re somehow seen by our present selves, or anyone who could tell our real selves that we were in a certain place at a certain time when we weren’t… Bad things would happen. That’s why we’re taking your cloak.”

“Hold on, Hermione--” said Ron. “I don’t think we can all fit under that anymore. We aren’t all eleven anymore.”

“That’s why you’re going to be looking at the Marauder’s Map while we go down to the Goblet,” Hermione turned to Harry. “Get your things and we’ll go down to the Myrtle’s bathroom.”

Ron groaned. “Why there?”

“Because no one else goes there,” Hermione gave him a look. “Hopefully, Myrtle will be sleeping or something.”

Harry went to grab the his cloak and the map from his trunk. His cloak was easy enough to find, but for some reason he couldn’t find the map. He shuffled through the papers strewn in his bag in case he had misplaced it, but just couldn’t find it.

“Harry?” called Hermione.

“Just a second--”

A strange feeling nagged at the back of his head and a sudden idea presented itself toward him. He felt along the bottom of his trunk for the fabric lined compartment. The diary was still there and had not moved, thankfully. He opened the compartment just to check. It wouldn’t hurt anything. He flipped the leather cover and through the diary’s bound pages to reveal the map settled within. His heart skipped a beat, but now wasn’t the time to think. Without any further thought, Harry threw the diary back in his trunk and opened the map.

The map was already very much alive, footsteps and names running along its borders, without a single word on Harry’s part. His heart sank and his hands shook as he held the map in front of him. He clenched his hands, willing them to still and turned to hand the map to Ron.

“Are we ready?” asked Hermione, looking between them.

“Let’s go.”

 

* * *

 

“So, how do we know what time to go back to?”

Ron was sitting on one of the sinks in Myrtle’s bathroom, swaying his legs, while Harry and Hermione stood around him. Luckily, Myrtle was absent that night. Maybe ghosts did sleep after all.

“I went and asked Cassius when he put his name in--” Hermione began.

Ron raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “Hold on, you were talking to _him_?”

“She can talk to whoever she wants,” Harry huffed, anger lingering from their previous argument.

“Some of us can have civilized conversations with other houses, Ron,” Hermione frowned. “Anyways, he put in his name at the very stroke of midnight. For some reason, he thinks that was why he was picked…” She bit her lip.

“Sounds like rubbish to me,” said Harry.

“That’s what I thought. And he also said he hadn’t seen anyone else approach the cup for an hour or so before he put his name in. I don’t think anyone would put Harry’s name in the Goblet during broad daylight, so I suppose midnight is our starting point. We may be there for a few hours.”

Harry snorted. “Who needs sleep, anyways?”

“Maybe we can go back in time to catch a nap,” suggested Ron as he hopped off the sink.

“I don’t think so,” said Hermione, pulling out her necklace once more and wrapping it around all three of their necks. “Too big a chance we might be seen. Now, hold still.”

She held the time-turner up by its chain and flicked the moving hourglass so that it would spin. It kept spinning on its axis, the particles of sand in the hourglass moving to the other side, one by one, the timeturner spinning once, twice, three times. It was almost hypnotizing, the way it kept spinning on its golden rings. Harry didn’t know how long he had been staring at it by the time Hermione caught it in her hand and the room started spinning around them until only they were the ones spinning and stumbling to the ground.

Well, it was more Harry and Ron stumbling to the ground and Hermione collapsing on top of them.

“Ouch--”

“Be quiet--” Hermione hushed. She unlooped the time turner from their necks and stood, wiping the dirt from her skirt.

“Did it work?” whispered Harry.

“I’m pretty sure,” said Hermione, looking around. The bathroom was just as decrepit as always and actually appeared a bit brighter due to the lights now being turned on. “We’d need to see a clock, but we should be fine.”

Suddenly a voice echoed from one of the stalls. “What are you three doing in my bathroom?”

Well, that was a lucky start to their night.

“Oh no…” Horror fell on Ron’s face.

Harry cringed before speaking, “Hello... Myrtle.”

She gasped. “Is that Harry Potter?” Myrtle flew out of a stall and floated right above Harry’s face. “It is! Come to visit me?” Her lids fell and she smiled in a way that made Harry think most likely the opposite of what Myrtle intended.

He forced himself to smile back but Myrtle didn’t seem to notice. “Yeah… actually… we just need to hide out in your bathroom for a little while.” She beamed. “And by we, I mean Ron.” Her shoulders instantly fell upon hearing that last bit.

Myrtle sighed and swirled around the trio before stopping in front of Harry once more. “He can use my bathroom… as long as you promise to come visit me more often, Harry.” She pouted.

“Alright,” said Harry resigned. “Now, we really have to go now-- I’ll be back in a little while, alright?”

Myrtle just giggled and fell on her back, letting the air catch her as she floated around the bathroom.

Hermione spoke quickly. “Remember, Ron-- Look at the corridor leading to the Great Hall, or just follow our dots. “

“Got it.”

Harry pulled out his cloak and draped it over him and Hermione.

“You’re going to have to crouch down a bit more, I can see your shoes,” said Ron.

They hunched over a little.

“All good.”

 

* * *

  


It hadn’t been very long since Harry had last used his cloak in Hogwarts, but he hadn’t realised just how much he had grown over the summer. Maybe it was just the fact that he couldn’t fit multiple people under the cloak now that made it seem so small.

The halls were dead quiet as he and Hermione walked toward the Great Hall. The duo made certain that they stepped with the lightest of pressure so their footsteps would not reveal them. They would need to take one set of stairs down and hopefully there wouldn’t be any problems.

At one point, Hermione nudged Harry and he froze. She pulled the cloak down a little and he realised that once again their shoes were just under the boundary of the cloak.

 

They made it to the set of stairs leading down to the Great Hall just in time, as it had just stopped moving. Walking down the stairs was definitely a struggle as they had to time their steps with each other, but as long as they took it slow, they were golden.

Eventually, Harry and Hermione came up the corridor leading to the Great Hall. The clock read 1:18, which couldn’t have been right. They had not spent over an hour walking from the bathroom. Harry nudged Hermione upon seeing it and tried to lead her eyes toward the time.

She whispered barely a breath, “I might have lost count when turning the timeturner.”

The duo kept a reasonable distance from the Goblet as they waited for their mystery person. The blue flames of the Goblet of Fire danced off the walls, illuminating a circle around it. They were currently standing in a corner where the light couldn’t reach, lest their shadows reveal their position. Harry had tried to sit once, but Hermione pulled him right back up before he could reach the floor.

He could tell she was about to start scolding him, before he heard footsteps and put a hand to her mouth. Her eyes widened and his hand fell.

The footsteps came closer and closer, and Harry could almost hear his own heartbeat throbbing in his chest. Except no one ever came. The footsteps sounded like they were right there, but no one was.

Hermione patted Harry lightly on the arm and pointed at a spot on the floor.

The blue light that was emitted from the Goblet of Fire glowed in all directions, but in one area, a shadow had fallen.

Someone _was_ there.

A ragged voice whispered so quiet Harry could barely hear it, “ _Confundus_.”

The Goblet crackled and sparked tumultuously. Harry held his breath and could feel Hermione still beside him, her hand gripping his arm.

“There will be four schools competing in the Triwizard Tournament this year,” the voice heaved, high-pitched and ear-grating. “Durmstrang, Beauxbatons, Hogwarts… and Uagadou.”

The flames whooshed higher in response.

Harry thought he saw movement above the shadow when a slip of parchment was quickly dropped into the Goblet. The flames changed into a brilliant red, sparking and sputtering warm flames, until it died down back to its original blue.

The shadow moved and disappeared into the darkness of the hall.

 

* * *

  


They waited a good ten minutes before returning to Myrtle’s bathroom. Ron was pacing, the map clutched between his hands, lowering it just as they entered the bathroom.

They hadn’t even taken off the invisibility cloak before he started speaking. “I can’t believe it--”

“Who did you see Ron?” asked Harry, rushing over to look at the map.

Ron’s mouth was opened wide and he was looking between the map and at Harry. He shook head before frowning. “Didn’t you see him? Why would _Durmstrang’s headmaster_ want you in the Triwizard Tournament?”

“That Karkaroff guy?!” Harry raised his voice.

That didn’t make any sense whatsoever. Why would he of all people want Harry in the tournament? If anything, that would just put the odds _against_ his own champion winning. Unless… he had his own reason for wanting Harry in the tournament. The thought was unsettling.

“Yeah! And--” Ron cut himself off, his eyebrows furrowed. “I think the map isn't working right, mate. Or maybe the time turner made it confused or something.”

“What? Let me see it--”

Ron handed the map off to Harry, who eyes scoured hurriedly across the parchment. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Look at where we are.”

Harry’s eyes ran across the halls and rooms of the map before coming across Myrtle’s bathroom. Inside, he found their dots: Ronald Weasley, Hermione Granger, Harry Potter and--

“Tom Riddle?!”

Right over Harry’s own dot was another.

“But he’s dead, right?” Ron affirmed. “And you killed his memory or whatever, right?”

“I did,” Harry stared at the map.

He had seen Riddle disintegrate right in front of him. He _had_ to be gone. But the diary… it had been acting up recently, had it not? Except Harry hadn’t written in it at all since his second year. He’d barely even touched it. It had started moving without any input from him whatsoever.

That should have been impossible. There was no way it could just… siphon energy from the air, after all. It had been in Lucius Malfoy’s possession for, what, twelve years? And it did absolutely nothing in that time frame, to his knowledge… Or maybe it had. Maybe that was why Malfoy had tried to get rid of it.

Come to think of it, where _did_ Malfoy get the diary?

Hermione was biting her lip, looking off in the distance.

“‘Mione?” said Ron, concerned. “What do you think?”

“We need to tell Professor Dumbledore about this-- about everything you saw tonight, Ron. And you should probably use that mirror of yours and call Sirius, as well, Harry. This is bad--” Hermione’s voice turned grave.

“Yes, wandering out at such a late hour _is_ quite bad, Miss Granger,” a voice sneered from the door.

Harry nearly jumped at the sight of the man lurking in the shadows, half expecting to see Karkaroff with his dark beard and white robes pointing a wand toward them.

There stood Snape, almost blending in with the darkness. “Perhaps, you _should_ go see Professor Dumbledore. I will escort you to ensure you do not wander any further. Or, if you would prefer... I can simply handle your discipline myself.”

The trio exchanged looks and Harry’s heart threatened to leap out of his throat. They exited the bathroom behind Snape, trying to keep up with his long strides. From his position behind him, Harry thought Snape’s robes were reminiscent of a dementor’s cloak. The halls were chilly enough in the eve of Halloween’s night air to mimic the effect. While Snape moved silently, as if he himself were floating on air, the three students’ footsteps were echoing throughout the hall.

Snape led the trio to the second floor and past the gargoyles with a bitter, “ _Blood Pops_.”

The lights in the Headmaster’s office were dimmed, and it was the darkest Harry had ever seen it. Fawkes stood asleep on his perch, tucked into his own normally vibrant feathers now dulled in the darkness. The portraits of the former headmasters stirred as Snape lit the numerous candles of the room with a swish of his wand.

“Do not move,” he commanded as he traversed the room like a predator on the hunt. He climbed the marble steps towards Dumbledore’s desk and disappeared behind a curtain off to the side.

He returned with Dumbledore alongside him, the latter dressed in bright purple sleeping robes, rubbing his eyes before putting on his half-moon glasses.

“Well, this is quite the surprise visit, Severus.”

“I believe these three have something _important_ to inform you of. So important, it could not wait for more reasonable hours,” Snape drawled.

At that moment, Harry wondered exactly how much Snape had overheard. The trio looked between themselves, before Harry spoke.

“Professor-”

“Why don’t we all have a seat, first?”

“Um… alright.”

Everyone made their way to Dumbledore’s desk and took a seat, excluding Snape who preferred to stand over them all as they sat down. Maybe to prevent them from running out, although maybe Harry was just being cagey after all he had seen that night.

“Now, what is it that you wished to inform me of?” said Dumbledore, smiling but eyes drooping from tiredness.

“I know who put my name in the Goblet of Fire--”

Hermione nudged him. “They don’t know yet Harry-- We’re a day in the past.”

“Making good use of your time-turner, Ms. Granger?” Dumbledore chuckled.

Hermione bit her lip.

“Okay, so we’re from a day in the future--” Harry began again. “The names were called for the Triwizard Tournament, but my name was called along with the other three champions.”

Snape raised an eyebrow and Harry could tell he was holding in some sneering remark.

“Fascinating,” said Dumbledore with wonder. His eyes caught the light of the candles under his half-moon glasses. “And you did not put your own name in, I presume?”

“That’s why we used Hermione’s time-turner-- although, we went to see who did it and he had disillusioned himself,” Harry rolled his eyes. “We heard him use a confundus on the Goblet and tell it that there would be four schools competing.”

“And what was this fourth school?” Snape questioned mockingly.

Harry clenched his fists in his lap. “I don’t know-- I’d never heard it before. Wag-ah-do or something?”

“Uagadou-- the Ugandan school of magic…” said Dumbledore, deep in thought. Three lines seemed permanently etched into his forehead. “And how did you discover the culprit’s identity, may I ask?

“I can answer that, Headmaster,” sneered Snape. “They’ve been running around with it since their third year, no matter how many times they’ve almost hidden it, I’ve seen it. These three have a map of the school that shows everyone’s position in the castle and its grounds at once.”

Well, there went that secret.

Harry sighed. “We had Ron in one of the bathrooms keeping watch of the map.”

“It was that Karkaroff bloke--” said Ron. “Durmstrang’s headmaster, right?”

“Igor? That is…” Dumbledore frowned. “Most troubling, given his history.”

“His history?” Hermione repeated.

“Igor…”

“Igor Karkaroff was once a Death Eater-- one of the Dark Lord’s followers,” Snape drolled.

“He defected and became a turncoat for us, putting several other Death Eaters in Azkaban,” Dumbledore said, deep in thought.

Hermione frowned, furrowing her brow. “You don’t think… _He_ could be back?”

It had been more than two years since Harry last encountered Lord Voldemort while he was attempting to steal the Sorcerer’s Stone. If he was able to come back once… what was stopping him from coming back again? Could he be possessing Karkaroff this time?

No, that didn’t make sense. There would be no way for him to hide it-- there was no turban or hat to be seen on the man.

“If he is working for Voldemort, then he’s probably trying to get me killed through the tournament,” realised Harry.

Dumbledore had placed his hand on his face. “That may very well be true, Harry. Many have passed in the Triwizard Tournament in years before… It would not be unheard of and few would question it.”

“But why is he still so intent on killing me?” Harry puzzled.

Dumbledore and Snape looked at each other, Dumbledore’s face that of concern, Snape’s completely blank.

“I’m afraid… you are still not quite old enough to hear it, Harry.” Dumbledore sighed. “This is difficult to cope with, I know. But this is safer for all of us. You will learn in due time.”

Harry could feel anger bubbling up inside of him, different to any sort of feeling he’d ever had before. The center of his chest burned, his fists clenched, and his eyes stung and _he knew he should have expected this_ \-- a voice whispered in his head. _Dumbledore was always prejudiced toward people like him_ and _he thought he knew better than everyone, well, we’ll show him--_

“You said the same thing to me when I was eleven--” Harry raised his voice emphatically. “After everything I’ve been through, if Voldemort is coming after me again, I think I have the right to know.” He just couldn't stop once the first words had fallen out, no matter how breathless he seemed. It was as though he were a puppet speaking words that Harry had never even imagined he would think but that now completely resounded with him.

Hermione and Ron gaped at him, while Dumbledore merely blinked rapidly in surprise.

“I’m afraid…” _Oh, you will be afraid if you don’t give us answers--_ “You are aware of the connection you have with Voldemort, yes?”

Harry blinked. “Because of my scar? The reason I can speak parseltongue?”

Dumbledore placed his hand on his face, sighing deeply. “Among other things,” he muttered. “The reason Lord Voldemort came to Godric’s Hollow that night… was because of a preexisting connection between the two of you. It existed before he attempted to kill you that fateful night.”

“What?”

“You were born to destroy him and that made Voldemort feel something he never wished to-- fear.” Dumbledore looked back up at Harry with somber eyes. “If he were to attempt to rise again… he may very well perceive you as his first obstacle. He ignored you for the better part of your first year and you foiled his plans then. He will not make the same mistake twice.”

“But-- why… me?” he perplexed slowly. _This just doesn’t make sense_.

Dumbledore shook his head. “It is the nature of prophecies, my dear boy.”

Hermione and Ron had stilled beside him.

“Prophecy?” asked Harry, frowning.

“Written in regards to your first defeat of Lord Voldemort, of course, Harry.”

“But.. what was the prophecy, exactly?”

Dumbledore hesitated. “I’m afraid that will have to wait until you are older, my boy.”

Harry let out some air through his nose. He could have sworn he had heard those words almost exactly years before. What was it that was so important that he couldn’t hear it now? How long exactly who he have to wait? If he was _ever_ to hear the real reason.

“Sir…” _It’s important to test the waters first._ “Can I ask you something?”

Snape exhaled an annoyed breath.

“Of course, you may,” said Dumbledore gently.

“... does this _connection_ … affect my magic at all?”

Dumbledore paled. “I-- I have no idea, but perhaps-- have you been having difficulties, Harry?”

“It is possible that Potter simply cannot keep up in his classes--” Snape sneered.

“I shouldn’t be having problems with spells I’ve used countless times before,” insisted Harry. “But I didn’t have problems when Voldemort first tried to come back in my first year, either. Nothing has happened to cause this--”

 _Except where there is a result, there is always a cause._ Harry stopped speaking, his mind overwhelmed. A million foreign thoughts surged through his head and it was difficult to focus on any of them unless a single thought was pushed to the very forefront of his brain. It felt so… _strange_.

“I don’t know that there is anything we can do right now, my boy,” said Dumbledore, eyes drooping.

Harry blinked up at Dumbledore, who was slouching uncharacteristically at his desk. Did that mean he’d just have to cope with his magic being so unpredictable? For how long? Maybe… he was dread to admit, but maybe this would be permanent.

Would he even be able to survive the tournament? There was another thought. If wizards older and far more capable than he had failed before, what would happen to him now that he couldn’t even control his own powers? Maybe… Voldemort knew and that was the point.

“There may be a way to help, however, but it is not within our reach at this very moment,” continued Dumbledore. “There can be research done, but… I’m afraid it will take time.”

Harry sighed. “Is there anything we _can_ do?”

Dumbledore hesitated before speaking, eyes looking past Harry and off into the distance. “It may do you well to practice controlling your magic in this state. It will take time, which I am aware is of the essence for you right now, but it is all that can be done.”

Another breath of air left Harry’s mouth, and he glanced at Hermione and Ron who had gone completely silent next to him. They gave him sympathetic looks.

“Now,” Dumbledore stood from his desk. “Is there anything else you would like to tell me, my boy?” He searched Harry’s eyes and Harry felt the urge to blink away.

“No sir. Nothing.”

Dumbledore’s eyes softened, as if disappointed. “Then it may perhaps be time for you to go and get some sleep. I can arrange for you three guest rooms-- I do not believe it would be wise to return to your own beds to find your past selves deep in slumber and risk waking them.”

 

* * *

 

Severus Snape remained standing in Dumbledore’s office as the headmaster escorted the three teenagers to their temporary rooms. The candles flickered with the movement around them, the shadows turning on their axes until they eventually left the room. There Snape stood, hands behind his back, hand clenching wrist, needle pricks running up his forearm.

He knew what he would see if he brought his skin to the light. Unlike the wax of the candles, the mark would not simply melt off. Instead, it was being burned deeper into his flesh. It had scraped like charcoal when he received it and while its original color had faded, it was now darkening to match the tool resembling its creation.

Albus returned a few minutes later to find Severus standing where he had left him in the shadows.

“You were correct, Severus. You know what this means, now.”

“I am aware.”

“I believe I must pay a visit to Mr. and Mrs. Vance,” Albus let out with a sigh. “Have a good night.”

He snuffed out the candles with a wave of his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to @angelofmysteries for betaing <3 You guys should go read her lovely Tomarry time travel fic.  
> Feel free to check out my tumblr @thelastnero, as well. If you send me an ask, I may answer ;c
> 
> Thank you for all your lovely comments <3


	11. With Friends Like These

“The only difference between the saint and the sinner is that every saint has a past, and every sinner has a future.”

-Oscar Wilde

 

Harry tried to sleep in the guest room, he really did, except his mind would not cease its incessant yammering.

_Something is not right, information is being withheld from you, Dumbledore is a conniving fool, how could you just accept that and leave, what is the prophecy, what is the prophecy, what is the prophecy--_

Drawing the covers from his borrowed bed, he sat up with a huff and rubbed his eyes. These thoughts… did not feel natural. It was as though someone was throwing adhesive stones at the glass walls of his mind to stick and torment him. They were not _his own_.

The only explanation Harry could think of what somehow the connection he had with Voldemort. But with that thought only came further questions-- why hadn’t those thoughts intruded upon his mind earlier? Why now?

Or perhaps, it had to do with Riddle. Now that he thought about it, that explanation seemed more likely, with the diary's activity and what Ron had seen on the Marauder’s Map.

And the whole matter of Karkaroff simply made things worse. And Dumbledore letting him stay in the castle even when it was obvious Voldemort had made him put his name in the Goblet of Fire? Apparently, he’d snitched on the Death Eaters, but Harry wasn’t convinced-- He may have only been trying to save his own hide. Harry remembered Pettigrew in that moment and cringed inwardly.

But then again, Karkaroff’s name wasn’t the only thing Ron had seen on the map. Maybe he shouldn’t have been surprised that Riddle was up to _something_ , but the fact that his name appeared was alarming, to say the least. The diary had been acting up recently, after all. Could Riddle… be trying to open the Chamber of Secrets again? He couldn’t possess anyone, as far as Harry knew, but he’d been far too active for comfort.

It wouldn’t hurt if he just had one simple conversation with him. He was only able to possess Ginny after talking to her the majority of the school year. It would be fine.

Harry grabbed his cloak and the map and made his way back to Gryffindor Tower.

 

* * *

 

As he crept into his dorm room, Harry found every single bed occupied, curtains drawn. His feet touched lightly to the floor and he had nearly no light. Looking at the clock on his own bedside table, it was just past 3 a.m. In approximately three hours, he, Hermione, and Ron would be transported back to the future-- or rather, their present.

That was enough time for him to interrogate Riddle.

He crouched down to the floor and slowly opened his trunk. A window above let in some light, but the waning sliver of the moon did not provide much. He could only just make out his hands as they unclicked the mechanism of his trunk. Inside were his books, just where he remembered he had left them. As his fingers dragged across the fabric feeling for the hidden compartment and the book inside, he felt the lack of any object in the compartment and drew his hand back.

_Probably near your defense book again._

Harry rummaged through his books again, and there it was. A thought occurred to him at that moment and he flicked through the pages of the diary and turned it over. The Marauder’s Map was not inside.

Remembering the map in his own pocket, he pulled it out.  

_“I solemnly swear I am up to no good.”_

Bunched up in the dormitory were several names-- Ron, Neville, Dean, Seamus, Harry, _Harry_ , Riddle, _Riddle_ , **_Riddle_ ** _\--_

Harry’s hands clenched at the corner of the parchment.

Why were there **three** Tom Riddles--

Something was wrong, very, very wrong. A wave of anxiety washed over him and he felt as though someone was watching him.

He gulped as he reached for a quill and dipped it into a pot of ink. The quill hovered over the diary, glistening black liquid dripping onto its pages. It evaporated within a second’s time.

His hand shook and tensed and it was almost painful to hold it in position to write and he had to squint to see his words, but he wrote. “Tom Riddle.”

The wait was deadly. Silence pounded in Harry’s ears and he could hear his own heartbeat in his chest. It was unnerving the way his gut wrenched at the thought of Riddle’s response and what he was thinking--

“I see you have come by my diary. May I ask who this is?” came in that same elegant cursive, so quick, so seemingly thoughtless, except Harry knew that Riddle must have been waiting for the day someone wrote in the diary once more. He probably had those very words prepared for months in advance.

His quill pressed sharply into the page of the diary. “Harry Potter.”

Another pause. Seconds passed and Harry’s hand hovered over the diary, gripping his quill.

Long strokes of ink appeared on the page once more. “Hello again, Harry. Tell me, did you keep my diary all this time?”

Harry blinked, annoyance furling in his chest. “Yes, but I’m sure you already know that.”

“I did not. For all I knew, you left my diary down in the Chamber of Secrets. I’m touched you took me with you, even after our little disagreement.”

“Quit lying, Riddle. And that was more than a disagreement, you tried to kill me!” The words Harry wrote came quickly and his handwriting was barely legible. “I don’t know what you’re doing, but it needs to stop.”

“I apologize, Harry, but be aware it was not personal in the slightest. However, I do take offense that you would think I am lying. I have no reason to lie, for I am helpless within this book, in no small part due to yourself.”

“You were the one to put yourself in this situation with your damn book and your trying to kill the muggleborns. And I find it hard to believe you are completely helpless.”

“My, it seems as though you’ve become much more… quick to jump at accusations, Harry. I’m flattered you have so much faith in me, but there is truly nothing I can or could have been doing in the time since our last altercation. You will find my energy reserves are vastly depleted,” Riddle’s last word trailed, as though he were thinking. “That sword did remarkable damage. Perhaps it was only amplified by the power of its wielder.”

Harry frowned. Flattery had worked once, but not again.

“The diary has been moving. I know you’re doing something.” The pressure he placed on his quill made his words thick with ink.

“Moving? How so?”

He wasn’t going to play dumb now, was he? “I always put the diary in one compartment-- never anywhere else. Except now, it keeps attaching itself to my other books. Imagine that.”

“How fascinating. Regretfully so, I have no explanation for that.”

“Of course you don’t. And I’m sure you have nothing to do with my map moving, do you?”

“Map?”

“It was wedged in between the pages of the diary, for Merlin’s sake.”

“While I can feel whatever touches the diary, I am afraid I cannot see it. The only way I can tell what is written inside is through a charm of my own creation.”

Nothing. Literally, nothing. He was denying everything and what frustrated Harry worse was that he felt inclined to believe him. He supposed he had one more shot.

“Fine. But I’d like to see you attempt to explain this--”

“I can surely attempt.”

Harry bit back a frown. “I have a map of Hogwarts that shows the location of every single person within the grounds. It can only be opened if you know the incantation and it can only be closed if you know the closing line.”

“And this was within my pages? Fascinating. How did you come into possession of such an item? Or did you create it yourself?”

“My father and his friends made it. Anyways, there’s three of you on it at this very moment.”

“Three?”

“I was expecting two at the most since I am currently using a time turner for other reasons. I can see two of myself. But for there to be three of you is completely unexplainable-- and I gave the map to my friend earlier, and apparently, your name follows me wherever I go.”

“And you keep the diary in that secret compartment of yours?”

“Every day. This is the first time I have taken the diary out in almost two years.”

“Am I correct to assume that the three copies of my name on the map correspond to my diary, you, and the past-you? And your own name appears, alongside my name?”

...That was a quick assumption. How could he possibly guess something like that? “Yes, actually. What made you think that.”

“Simply the fact that you said my name followed you wherever you went. A logical assumption, is it not?”

Harry supposed it was, but it seemed as though something was missing. Riddle knew something he didn’t.

“And how do I know you haven’t been lying this entire time and that you actually are doing something? Like, trying to possess me, or whatever?”

“Yet you haven’t written in my diary for such a long time. I don’t think I could possess you at this very moment, even if I wished.”

“I find that hard to believe. What other explanation do you have?”

Riddle’s words came sharp and pointed, the letters so disconnected they almost looked like print. “No particularly good explanation.”

“I think you’re lying.”

_He is._

“Well, I’m sorry you feel that way. Maybe you should work on being less suspicious of others.”

_I would advise you to ignore that._

Harry was about ready to throw the diary in the Black Lake. _Dumbledore_ had been enough, but now _Riddle_ \-- Even that order seemed wrong. Everyone was withholding some kind of information from him and it was driving him crazy. Coupled with the Triwizard Tournament, and even Voldemort possibly returning, he felt ready to explode under stress.

“I do wish we could have spoken more before our altercation, however, Harry,” Riddle’s smooth cursive came once more, just as Harry was planning on shutting the book and throwing it back in his trunk compartment. “I do believe we could have, as I have said before, learned many things from each other.”

Well, that’s difficult to do when you’re purposefully withholding information.

 _He’s just defending himself,_ another voice in his head whispered. _Rightfully so, or so he believes._

Harry let out a sigh and looked at the clock-- 4:29 a.m. For some reason, he didn’t feel sleepy in the slightest, but hyper aware of his surroundings. Was it 5:00 or 6:00 that he would be transported back to the future? He supposed he’d figure out soon enough.

“If you still want to talk to me, I need your help with something.”

“And what would that something be?”

“Someone entered my name into the Triwizard Tournament. Some lackee of a Dark Lord. I’m only fourteen and the first event is later this month.”

There was a pause before Riddle began writing again. “Well, that is quite troubling, I would expect. Have you any idea of what the first task will be?”

“We’re supposed to enter in blind.”

“That won’t do. Find out. Otherwise, I cannot help you.” Riddle’s words ended abruptly before beginning again. “Our efforts would be far too scattered if I attempted to teach you any and everything I would expect to be useful. Research previous tasks held in the past tournaments. You are the Boy Who Lived, are you not? Have you no connections that could possibly aid you?”

Harry paused and blinked at the diary. He did not recall telling Riddle that bit of information. “How did you know that?”

“The young girl who had been writing in my diary before you. Whatever her name was.”

Rage bled into his eyes. “Her name was Ginny and thanks to you, she’s lost almost all her magic now. You could show some remorse.”

“I could. Magic should, after all, be cherished and protected. However, it was her fault for allowing herself into such a situation in the first place. A pureblood, of all wizards, should be aware of the dangers present in unknown magical objects. It is a sad day when a witch forgets her roots. Although, I believe her family may have been partly to blame.”

“The Weasleys were the first real family I ever knew, Riddle,” Harry scribbled out, words forming chicken scratch. “So back off. They’re wonderful people, something I can’t say about you.”

“I do not need to be wonderful, as you put it,” was written, letters fluid and extra curved. Harry could tell Riddle was amused and it pissed him off even further. “I simply need to be great, and I am. Now, if you are done bowing to your inferiors, I believe you should focus on winning the Triwizard Tournament, if not for your own survival, but your own dignity. ”

Harry slammed the diary shut and glared at it. Why did Riddle have to be so… ugh. At least last time, he had the sense to hide all his negative opinions. Although, Harry supposed, you can’t see anyone much uglier after they’ve tried to kill you.

He huffed and slouched over, reaching over to the map he had laid on the floor.

“ _Mischief managed._ ”

He folded the map and decided he might as well put it in the diary.  With another glance at the clock, he made his way down Gryffindor Tower and back to Myrtle’s bathroom.

 

* * *

 

The next morning-- or was it the next, next morning?-- came and Harry found that the enthusiasm that met him in Gryffindor did not extend to the rest of Hogwarts. He became the brunt of many awkward, searching stares and annoying questions. No one seemed to believe there was any possibility of him _not_ putting his name in the Goblet of Fire. Considering how angry Riddle had made him the previous night, Harry seemed to emit an aura that radiated ‘stay away’.

The reaction towards the real Hogwarts champion, Cassius Warrington, was also… odd to say the least. While houses before had avoided Slytherin students like the plague for fear of the serpent’s bite, most now tried to maintain a cautiously respectful front toward the champion.

Warrington himself was… again, quite odd. Harry had never paid him much attention in previous years and had written him off as a blockhead quidditch player. If he were to imagine anyone being Hogwarts’ champion, he wouldn’t have pictured Warrington. He always had a blank expression on his face and only seemed to be able to focus on the quaffles and hoops-- any other player who dare strayed into his path had to be prepared to be bulldozed over.

Why had the Goblet of Fire chosen him, of all people? Harry knew that Angelina Johnson had also put her name in-- what did Warrington have that she didn’t?

Never had he felt like he knew so little in his life. And what was worse, _he knew the people that knew what he wanted to know_. How he was supposed to convince Dumbledore to tell him the prophecy, or even more difficult, how to get Riddle to divulge what he actually knew about the map, he had no clue how to do so. In the latter case, the danger was much more immediate and it left Harry feeling uneasy. Riddle was up to something-- was Harry being possessed without even knowing?

Those thoughts that had been occurring in his head… they couldn’t be Riddle’s, could they? But he thought he could remember hearing them when he was talking to Riddle in the diary itself.

And then there was the matter of Professor Dumbledore. There was some doubt that lingered within Harry about the whole situation. Dumbledore had implied it was for his own protection that he didn’t hear the prophecy. Harry had a hard time believing that, but somehow was brought back to thinking of the Mirror of Erised-- the only time he had known for certain that Dumbledore had lied to him. What exactly made Dumbledore decide to lie versus avoiding the question, as he did at the end of that year and now during his fourth year?

And then there was the matter of his magic. Harry had been avoiding doing any extra spells, for fear of screwing things up even further, but it was necessary for his classes. He could only imagine how he would be able to function during the Tournament-- it was a magical contest, after all. He was probably expected to use magic. Not only was he going to be put up against wizards years his senior with more experience and a greater array of knowledge, they had actual functioning magic. Nothing had appeared wrong with Harry’s wand during the weighing of the wands following the calling of the champion’s names. The problem lied within Harry himself, somehow.

Maybe he would have to take Dumbledore’s advice and learn how to control it. But first, it may have been wise to research previous events like Riddle had suggested.

When he brought up the idea to Hermione at breakfast a few days later, she was eager to head to the library. They instantly headed towards the Magical Sports section. It took some wading through various Quidditch books, but eventually they found a few books regarding the Triwizard Tournament, enough to have quite the thick stack on the table in front of them.

“So, we’re only looking for mentions of what kind of events are typically in the tournament,” said Harry, looking at Hermione across the table.

“Got it,” Hermione nodded. “Maybe there might also be something in the rules that might disqualify you from competing,” she bit her lip, eyes searching Harry’s.

He pursed his lips. “Maybe. We can hope.”

They were sitting in a pair of armchairs with a table in between, set aside from the most of the others tables but still in view. The library was quiet that morning, as to be expected, but some students could still be heard whispering in the background. The pair of Gryffindors skimmed through book after book and compiled a list of many of the types of events that had been in past tournaments. It wasn’t looking very good for Harry.

“A maze of acromantula nests, tracking down yetis, Abraxan racing--” he listed.

Hermione blinked in realisation. “The first events seem to always deal with a magical creature of some sort.”

“Well, that’s something.”

“Maybe-- oh, Harry, have you told Sirius about all this yet?”

“Shoot,” Harry shook his head. “I forgot.”

“I was about to say, maybe you could ask Professor Lupin if he could point you to any resources regarding magical creatures,” she hesitated. “But you should speak to Sirius first.”

“Hold on, I think I have the 2-way mirror in my bag,” said Harry. He reached down and pulled his bag onto his lap and fished the mirror out of one of its pockets.

“You can probably go into one of the study rooms,” Hermione nodded over to a door. “I’ll make sure no one walks in and keep looking for some mention of disqualification while you’re at it.”

Harry grinned. “Thanks, I’ll be just a minute.”

He walked across the room towards the door to one of the rooms when he heard his name called.

Well, not quite called, but jeered.

“Well, look who it is. Potter, the unwanted champion and attention seeker extraordinaire.”

He didn’t need to turn to recognize that voice, but did anyway. There Malfoy sat, surrounded by a handful of Slytherins.

“Being the Boy Who Just Couldn’t Die and the _Prophet_ ’s golden boy just wasn’t enough, was it? You know, I wrote my father and said you wouldn’t last 10 minutes in the first task. You know what he said?” Malfoy laughed dryly and didn’t wait for a response. “He thinks you won’t last ten seconds.”

“I’d say I’m flattered you care enough to write home about me, Malfoy, but I’d be lying.”

Malfoy flushed and sputtered a weak, “Shut up, Potter.” He narrowed his eyes and cleared his throat. “An awful lot of lying you’ve been doing recently, haven’t you?” Malfoy sneered and turned to some of the other Slytherins at the table. Surprisingly, a few Durmstrang students sat at the table as well, including a very focused Krum with his face in a book. He looked up curiously as Harry glanced over at him. When their eyes met, Krum lowered his lids and looked past him.

Harry drew his eyes back to Malfoy and glared. “I don’t need to explain myself to you,” he said, turning back to the door and stepping through. If he wasn’t in a library, he might have slammed the door behind him.

No bookshelves lined the walls of the study room, just cubicles and tables. Harry grabbed a chair on the far side of the room and brought out the 2-way mirror. His own reflection looked back at it as he held it in front of him and cleared his throat.

“Sirius Black.”

His image distorted and within the frame of the mirror, all light seemed to be absent.He heard an exclamation come from somewhere within and the image shifted.

“Harry!” came Sirius’ voice and he soon appeared in the mirror. “How is everything? I’m glad the mirrors still work after all this time.” He initially grinned, but his face fell in concern at Harry’s expression. “Did something happen?”

“You haven’t seen it in the Daily Prophet yet?”

Sirius scratched the back of his neck. “Well, I can’t stand to read that rubbish every day, but I can get a copy--”

“No, it’s fine,” Harry shook his head. “I can just tell you.”

After explaining the situation, Sirius was understandably angry.

“And no one thought to put any sort of disqualification in if someone put another’s name in?!” Harry had never seen Sirius so… upset before.

“I don’t know-- it’s some sort of magical contract. Both Bagman and Crouch said there was no backing out of it--”

The background behind Sirius began to shift and bounce as though he was moving. “Well, what’s stopping you from just not showing up to the events? This is ridiculous-- you’re only 14!” Sirius sighed and the background stopped moving. “Wizards older than you have died in the Triwizard Tournament, for Merlin’s sake. And Karkaroff was a death eater in my time-- how has he not been sent to Azkaban again?!”

“Again?”

“He only got out for ratting out other death eaters. I suppose that’s why Dumbledore has Moody teaching now, given his record… but what concerns me the most is this prophecy…” his voice trailed and he frowned.

“How does that even work?” asked Harry.

“A seer can see a prophecy, but typically does not remember its contents.” Sirius furrowed his brow.  “Someone has to be present to record it and the recording is sent to the Department of Mysteries. It is held there for documentation, normally including who it is about.”

Harry blinked. “Well, can’t we just go to the ministry and see it?”

Sirius sighed and shook his head. “Only authorized personnel can enter the Department of Mysteries and only those involved in the prophecy can touch it. Why it was designed like that, I haven’t the slightest clue, but they sure as hell weren’t thinking straight if you ask me.” He let out an irritated noise. “I think I need to speak to Dumbledore myself. Let him know what I think of all this.”

“Maybe you’ll be able to get more out of him than I could.” Harry pursed his lips and suddenly remembered something. “Also, I was wondering… could you arrange to get Remus over so I could talk to him about something?”

Sirius didn’t even blink before giving affirmation. “Of course, anything you need, Harry. I can send you an owl when I know he’s coming over.”

Harry gave a small grin. “Thanks.” He glanced up at the clock in the room. “I think I should probably get going now. I’ll talk to you soon, Sirius.”

“Soon,” Sirius nodded and smiled back at him. “Keep up with your schoolwork and if you can’t, at least use your free time to stir up some trouble, eh?”

“Of course,” Harry laughed. The mirror’s image of Sirius soon swirled and faded to be replaced by Harry’s own reflection once more. He tucked it safely into one of his bag’s pockets when the door to the study suddenly opened and shut softly.

Looking up, he frowned at who he saw. A very bored looking Draco Malfoy leaned against the door with his arms crossed.

“Potter.”

Harry narrowed his eyes. Wasn’t Hermione out there to make sure no one came in? _Maybe she forgot._ She probably got distracted while reading and just didn’t notice.

“Out of the way, Malfoy,” said Harry.

Malfoy smirked and didn’t move from his position. “Not very polite today, I see. Considering the information I have, I’d be more… respectful, if I were you.”

“Sod off.” Harry crossed his arms and stood in front of the door Malfoy was blocking. He couldn’t very easily step around him without getting physical.

Malfoy’s smirk fell, and he just looked annoyed then. “Aren’t you going to ask what I know?”

“Honestly, I don’t care about anything you have to say. Now,” he sighed. “Could you please move away from the bloody door?” he strained his voice attempting to be polite in his words.

“No,” Malfoy huffed, clenching his fists in his still crossed arms. “I can’t. Or at least I won’t until you ask me what I know. Come on, Potter. Don’t make this difficult.”

Okay… what the hell was his problem?

_You might as well hear him out._

Harry frowned. If Riddle was trying to possess him somehow and those intrusive thoughts kept wheedling their way into his mind, he was going to go crazy.

“Fine, fine.” He held up his hands and gritted his teeth, “What do you know, Malfoy?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Potter? What would you give me for telling you?”

 _He didn’t even want to know in the first place._ Harry felt like tearing his hair out or maybe even Malfoy’s hair, but kept calm.  “How about… I don’t hex you where you stand now?”

Malfoy glared. “I highly doubt anyone else in Hogwarts will be willing to tell you,” he lowered his voice, “what the first event will be. If you can’t come up with something now, you will owe me in the future.”

_You do not want to owe a debt to a Malfoy. There may be another way to find out what he knows._

Harry found himself agreeing, when a thought popped into his head. “Why would you want to tell me and not your own _Slytherin_ champion?”

“Warrington already knows, of course. I think Krum is the only one who doesn’t know the first event yet.” He glanced toward the door.

“And that Fleur girl?”

Malfoy just smirked, a glint in his eyes. “If I told you how she knew, then you’d know. Information has its price, Potter. Now,” he said as held out his hand, “A favor for a favor?”

Harry looked down at the hand presented in front of him and remembered his very first day of Hogwarts.

_Don’t do it, Potter, I’m telling you this now--_

“I could… tutor you?” he said painfully. “In Defense?”

“Just because you're the top of the class in Defense doesn't mean I need your help there,” Malfoy scoffed. His eyes flickered down to Harry’s chest then back up to meet his eyes. “What about…  That locket of yours?” He grinned maliciously.

_No._

Harry felt his stomach lurch at the thought of giving up the locket. He had no idea when he had become so attached to it, when he had started wearing it everyday, when the last time he took it off was, but the days since he found it blurred in his memory.

_This is a test, Harry. He wants to know its true worth. Do not give him the slightest inkling of its value._

But what the hell was the locket’s value? And if that was truly Riddle’s voice inside his head, why would he want to keep the locket so badly?

He tried to clear his face of any expression other than annoyance, trying to seem confused. “Why would you want this?” Harry lifted the locket from his chest and Malfoy’s eyes followed. He covered it with his fist. “That doesn’t seem very fair to you… What are you playing at?”

Malfoy blinked and shrugged. “You never seemed one for extravagances such as jewelry, Potter. Needless to say, I was curious.”

Curious? More like scheming, the slimy git.

_I concur._

Okay, there was absolutely no way he was imagining it now-- that voice could only belong to Riddle. To think, he’d lie to Harry’s face right when he asked him about it… well, he wasn’t surprised, in all actuality.

“It’s an heirloom.”

“Sentimental, as always. Never know when to quit with the self-righteousness, do you?” Malfoy sighed dramatically. “In that case, you still owe me a favor, if you want me to tell you.” He gave Harry a pointed look. He was almost looking past Harry in an attempt of disinterest, but his body was still rigid in front of the door.

“Fine.” Harry threw his hands up. “Now, what is it that you wanted to tell me?”

“Shake on it, Potter, and not only will I tell you, I’ll _help_ you.” He held out his hand once more.

_You’re going to regret this. There is no possibly good reason why he would wish to help you win._

Maybe. But if the Malfoys were known for being Death Eaters and Voldemort wanted to kill him in the tournament, why would Malfoy want to help him? Unless… he was being kept in the dark. There was also the possibility… it made Harry cringe to think of it, but maybe they were trying to work against Voldemort? Lucius Malfoy had only barely weaseled his way out of Azkaban, from his understanding. If Voldemort was as weak as he had been Harry’s first year, then he could see the Malfoys not wanting to side with the Dark once again. Maybe he was trying to turn over a new leaf, in the twisted sort of way a Malfoy does?

His head ached at all the thoughts running through it. Harry gripped his hand and shook it.

Malfoy smirked. “It’s dragons.”

“Dammit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to @angelofmysteries for betaing <3  
> I answer asks and reblog memes and tomarry stuff on tumblr @thelastnero. 
> 
> Thank you all for your lovely comments <3  
> Just recently, I also posted a oneshot :D It may or may not contain smut. *cough* http://archiveofourown.org/works/12407316


	12. Flight of Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Triggers: References to alcoholism and instance of self-harm by a non-major character.
> 
> BIG ANNOUNCEMENT IN THE END NOTES.

“Every bird that flies has the thread of the infinite in its claw.” 

― Victor Hugo

 

Harry left the room before Malfoy, leaving the latter to stay back five minutes so as to not look suspicious.  _ Because sneaking around with a Malfoy is very suspicious for anyone, let alone a Gryffindor. _

He made a side note to talk more in-depth with the voice in his head. This was getting ridiculous.

Hermione was still sitting in the chair where he had left her, drowning in her books. He had to tap her shoulder when he approached to grab her attention.

“Oh, done talking to him?” She looked up. “What did he say?”

Harry’s first thought was what Malfoy had said, but then realised she was probably referring to Sirius. “He’s going to talk to Dumbledore. He’s pissed and doesn’t seem to believe the whole ‘Karkaroff defected’ story. Did you find anything?”

Hermione’s face went grave, and her eyes softened. “Nothing. There is no way you’re getting out of this, Harry. The closest case there was to someone being disqualified was when a girl became pregnant, but even then she was forced to compete. It was awful, Harry, this whole tournament is awful.”

He sighed. “I need to tell you another thing, but we should probably go somewhere private.”

“Myrtle’s bathroom again?”

“Alright.”

After explaining his conversation with Malfoy, Hermione began apologizing. 

“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t paying attention. He only spoke to me for one minute--”

“Wait, who?”

She bit her lip. “Krum came to talk to me while you were talking to Sirius,” Hermione said slowly. “He pointed out all the books we had checked out and asked if… well, if he could help.”

“...Krum? Viktor Krum, from Durmstrang?” 

She nodded. “I thought the same thing.”

“Why would he want to help? He’s competing against me.” Harry paced the tile floor of the bathroom, past the stalls that were, luckily, unoccupied by any ghosts.

“That’s why I turned him down,” she said. “Too suspicious, if you ask me. Although, now that I’ve heard what happened, maybe Malfoy asked him to come distract me.”

“I don’t think Malfoy and Krum are working together, though.” Harry frowned. “Malfoy said Krum was the only one who didn’t know about the dragons.”

“Strange.” Hermione furrowed her brow. “Anyway, thank you for telling me. I think you need to be very careful with Malfoy, Harry. He may have said he was going to help you, but...” She recoiled. “I mean, he may be trying to start over, but you two have been each other’s rivals since first year. I don’t think he’s just going to change that on a whim, given his pride.”

_ At least she understands the situation you’ve put yourself in, Potter.  _

Harry sighed. “I just don’t know what to do. And how the hell am I going to face a dragon when my magic is acting the way it is?”

Hermione frowned. “I don’t think it’s likely you’re going to be able to control it within a month. Compared to normal casting, wordless magic takes months learn. Wandless magic, more than that, I’m sure.”

“And I can’t take anything with me, except my wand,” he said, exasperated. “I could ask Malfoy for advice, but I don’t really like the idea of him knowing I’m having issues with my magic.”

“Well, teachers aren’t supposed to help at all with the Tournament, either. Doesn’t mean some of them won’t try, but…”

Harry stopped pacing. “We could ask Hagrid how to deal with dragons.”

_ I doubt he’d notice you were trying to trick him even if you told him outright. _

He ignored that thought.

Hermione caught on to his idea. “I’d feel bad, but this is a matter of life and death. We can stay after class today. I’ll have a few hours before I have to turn back time to attend Ancient Runes.”

 

* * *

 

 

It was funny that in Care of Magical Creatures, while they were studying blast ended skrewts and attempting to explain to Hagrid that maybe they weren’t the safest creatures to handle in class, Malfoy had gone into an overdrive of Harry barraging. If he hadn't known  the reason, Harry would have been angry, but, as it were, could only be amused.

If that was Malfoy’s attempt to hide their deal, he wasn’t doing a very good job of drawing attention  _ away _ from them.

After class, Harry and Hermione hung around Hagrid’s hut.

“Harry, Hermione, how er you two doin’?”

“Not so great,” Harry admitted.

“If I ever get my hands on the person who put yer name in--” Hagrid paused. “--well, yeh’ll never heard about that.

Harry smiled, thankful that of all people, Hagrid would automatically assume his innocence.

“Thanks, Hagrid,” said Harry. “What’s been going on with you?”

“Oh, yeh know me-- just takin’ care of Hogwarts’ herds and creatures, although Beauxbatons’ Abraxans have been provin’ mighty finicky.” His cheeks, normally pink, suddenly flushed even worse. “Maxine has been helpin’ me make sure they’re all taken care of.”

With the topic of the Triwizard Tournament, it felt awkward to suddenly lead into dragons. Harry glanced at Hermione and she gave him a look that said she was thinking the same thing.

“The Abraxan is quite the interesting creature, isn’t it Hagrid?” she began. “Although, I don’t recall reading that they were so... erm… partial to single malt whiskey.”

“Oh, that’s just Beauxbatons’ special way of makin’ ‘em stronger. Majestic, aren’t they? I could bring yeh two over to look at ‘em,” he enthused. 

Hagrid led them to the edge of the Forbidden Forest where a dozen of the winged horses stood, grazing. Their size was… intimidating. Each horse had a slightly different coat, although all shared the same creamy palomino color, patched with white.. Some of them had wandered further into the forest, flapping their feathered wings at each other. For such a beautiful creature, they sure were aggressive. Harry was reminded of Buckbeak, the hippogriff that had died in his third year. Malfoy’s doing, he thought.

There was a wooden corral around the stable that lead into the forest, but it was obviously not very well thought out. One, the Abraxans could just fly over it. Two, even if they didn’t have wings, with the amount of muscle on them, Harry would bet they could just pillage right through the wood. All he knew was that he didn’t want to be in front of one if they did decide to go on a rampage.

“You know, er, Hagrid,” said Hermione. Hagrid was petting one of the winged horses and looked up to the sound of her voice. “I think a pet Abraxan would be a much safer option for a pet than a, er, dragon. Don’t you think?”

_ Very subtle friend you have there, Harry. _

“Well, both have their own special characteristics that make ‘em unique, Hermione,” he said. “Dragons are very misunderstood-- never mean ter hurt anyone. Humans just tend ter be in the wrong place a’ the wrong time and whoops, someone gets a little hurt.”

“Yes, right…” She frowned. “Is there anyway to uh… befriend a dragon?”

“Lookin’ inta bein’ a dragonologist, Hermione?” Hagrid grinned. “That was my dream, a long, long time ago. Dangerous work, that is. You have ta have a special touch, but I’m sure yeh could.” Hagrid stopped petting the Abraxan and walked over to a sack near the stables. 

He reached in to reveal a box of brown bottles full of some sort of liquid.

“You two want ta help me fill up their troughs?”

Harry hadn’t had the time to respond before Hagrid gave put a bucket in his hands, so heavy he initially hunched over. “Uh, sure, Hagrid,” he said. This whole visit was getting a bit long-winded. Who knew that trying to get information was so difficult?

_ That is life, Harry. _

The bigger man clapped his hands. “Wonderful!” He pulled out two more boxes of bottles, handing one off to Harry and Hermione each. “There’s four troughs around the surroundin’ area, although I can never remember where I put ‘em. You won’t have ta go too far into the forest, so yeh’ll be safe. Some of the Abraxans just get a bit antsy bein’ in the pen all day, so they go flyin’ out and I don’t want ‘em gettin’ thirsty.”

_ This man should be fired-- sending Hogwarts students off into the Forbidden Forest-- _

‘Shut up, Riddle,’ Harry thought.

_ The first time you think directly to me and it is to tell me to stop talking. I am disappointed in you, Harry. _

Harry made his way into the Forbidden Forest, bucket of bottles in tow. Hermione had given him a worried look before splitting off into the other direction Hagrid had pointed to.

He passed by a few Abraxans who were grazing amongst the numerous plants along the landscape of the forest. He tried to maintain a large berth. Every time he passed one and it looked up, Harry felt as though it was analyzing how hard it would be to take him down. He decided he liked hippogriffs better.

_ You’re ignoring me. _

‘Because you’re a psychopathic liar.’

_ I have not lied to you once. The diary, well, I cannot blame him. _

Harry shook his head. ‘You  _ are _ the diary. Just because you’re in my head now, doesn’t mean you’re a separate entity.’

_ But doesn’t it?  _

He caught his foot on a tree root and tripped. The bucket went flying and bottles rolled through the leaves and dirt. An Abraxan stirred a little distance away, flapping its feathered wings as it reared back and whinnied. A twig snapped.

Harry caught himself on a tree and looked up.

A deathly thin, reptilian-like horse stood leaning over one of the bottles, sniffing it, bony tail raised high. A thestral, Harry thought.

The sound of hooves padding away through the underbrush caused him to turn his head to see the Abraxan fleeing into the trees.

The thestral stayed where it was and ignored the movement. It nudged the bottle on the ground causing it to roll across the dirt, the glass clinking against the rocks it rolled over.

Harry slowly walked away from the tree and grabbed the bucket from the ground. Most of the bottles were still inside, but he could see where some had fallen out. He tried to be as silent as possible, but cringed as the autumn leaves crunched under his feet. He had just picked up a pair of bottles and put them back in the bucket when the thestral looked up at him with its beetle-black eyes.

Its gaze was unnerving. Its eyes were so large they reminded him of one of those baby animals people would fawn over, yet they seemed far from innocent-- almost all-knowing. He couldn’t bare to shift his eyes. He held his breath in the cold, biting air of autumn.

Without breaking concentration, the skeletal horse kicked the bottle, its hoof hitting the glass with a ting. The bottle rolled over and stopped right in front of Harry. He blinked and slowly bent over to pick it up. He dropped it into the bucket with a metallic thump. When he looked back up, his heart skipped a beat. The thestral was still looking at him and had, as quiet as the wind, moved through the forest closer to him. Its tail waved back and forth.

Harry tore his eyes away from the thestral and began gathering the other bottles he had dropped. As his feet crunched through the leaves, he did not hear a single whisper of movement, but could feel the presence following him. It made him aware of every movement he made, the breaths he took, every beat of his heart. 

Eventually, he found the two empty troughs he was looking for, but all the Abraxans had vacated the area as soon as he got near. It was tedious work filling them up with the numerous bottles of single-malt whiskey, but the sound of liquid spilling onto the wood became relaxing. The presence near him became less overbearing and he knew if he looked over his shoulder, the thestral would not be hiding, but be in plain sight. He supposed it didn’t need to.

Harry finished filling the last trough, turned around, and there it stood, its black, leathery skin a stark contrast to the color of the leaves around it. While it was already November, the snow that had speckled October was surprisingly absent. The cold remained. 

He could have went around, taken a longer way through to return to Hagrid’s Hut, but he decided to just bear with it and brush past the thestral through the gap in the barren trees. Its gaze followed him as he got closer and he vaguely wondered what its skin would feel like. Stopping beside the creature, he reached out a cautious hand, waiting for some kind of reaction. He got none. It just stood there and its gaze seemed to weigh down on Harry heavier than before.

Its skin felt like soft, supple leather, smoother than the fine grain of his dragonhide Quidditch gloves. The thestral keened under his touch. It was then that Harry thought, thestrals must not get a lot of petting. He ran his fingers across its back and it made a soft, rumbling noise that made Harry jump.

“I guess you’re not all that scary,” he said, laughing slightly. “But I think it’s time to head back.”

The thestral swished its tail and its head perked up.

Harry retracted his hand and began walking towards where he thought Hagrid’s Hut would be, but the thestral stood still. He himself stopped and looked back to the creature curiously. It gave him a pointed look and began walking in another direction, looking back at him.

He followed.

Within ten minutes, he was back at the edge of the Forbidden Forest closest to Hagrid’s Hut. He felt as though he should have been saying ‘goodbye’ to the creature that led him there, when another voice called out.

“Harry! We were about ta come looking fer yeh,” said Hagrid. 

He stepped closer and seemed to realise what the creature behind Harry was. He looked between Harry and the thestral. Harry nodded. 

“Looks like yeh’ve been makin’ friends, haven’t yah?” He smiled. “That there is Tenebrus. First baby born from the original herd and,” he lowered his voice, his eyes sparkling, “Don’t tell any of the others, my favorite.” 

Tenebrus whinnied.

“What are you talking about?” Hermione strolled up towards the two, looking puzzled.

“Thestrals, Hermione! Beautiful creatures, very misunderstood,” Hagrid went on. “Some see ‘em as a bad omen ‘cause… well, yeh can only see ‘em if yeh’ve seen death.”

Hermione blinked, wide-eyed. “Oh…” She looked at Harry.

“They were what was pulling the carriages when we first arrived.”

“I’ve read about them before, but I never knew they could be domesticated,” said Hermione.

“Oh well, they aren’t completely domestic,” Hagrid laughed. ”Takes out their spark. But thestrals can be trained, remarkably intelligent animals they are. Professor Dumbledore likes ta use ‘em for gettin’ one place ta the next, if he can’t magic his way over there.”

“You can ride thestrals?” asked Harry.

Hagrid nodded. “Fast as a whip.”

Harry had an absolutely insane idea, and it must have shown on his face. “So, uh… Do they all look like this?”

“‘Course, Harry,” Hagrid gave a belly-deep laugh. He turned towards the forest and let out a shriek that echoed against the trees. Both Hermione and Harry were startled and turned to see what Hagrid was doing. 

Within ten seconds, a herd of thestrals had appeared. The Abraxans that had lingered around the stable had cleared out, flapping their heavy feathered wings to fly away.

Seeing all the thestrals at once was a bit unsettling. Tenebrus, as if noticing Harry’s discomfort, nudged his hand. He reached out to stroke the creature’s head.

“The Abraxans don’t really like thestrals much, do they?”

“Even the bravest o’ creatures tend to be afraid o’ thestrals. I don’t know if they can see ‘em or not, but they avoid ‘em like dragon pox.”

Harry blinked. “Speaking of dragons, what would their reaction be to a thestral?”

Hagrid seemed to contemplate the question deeply. “Yah know, Harry, I don’t know.”

Hermione gave Harry a very worried look.

They returned back to the Gryffindor common room in time for Hermione to get ready for Ancient Runes.

“You should probably change, Harry--” 

“Huh?” He looked down and, admittedly, his clothes were a bit dirty from their trek into the Forbidden Forest.

Hermione gave him a disapproving once-over.

Okay. They were downright filthy.

_ Appearances don’t count for everything, Harry, but they do matter an awful amount. _

“Alright, alright, I’ll change,” Harry laughed.

They split up and entered their respective dorms. Harry’s was completely empty upon his arrival. It looked as though the laundry had just been done, though. He could always tell, for the lack of dirty clothes strewn across the floor was very obvious in a room of five growing teenagers. He opened up the dresser by his bed and found all his clothes neatly folded, yet something caught his eye.

A small handkerchief sat folded on top of all his other clothes. Instantly, it jogged his memory of the night of his interview for the  _ Prophet _ . He supposed he forgot to give it to Winky.

Looking at the clock on his bedside table, he figured he had an entire hour until lunch. He put on a fresh pair of robes and went down to the kitchens to pay his favorite house elf a visit.

“Harry Potter!” came Dobby’s excited voice as soon Harry entered the kitchens. 

“Hey Dobby,” said Harry. “How’ve you been?”

Dobby quivered in what Harry assumed was happiness. “Harry Potter is so kind, Dobby is doing well.”

“That’s great. Anyways, I was wondering, where’s Winky?” He looked around the room and only the blurred faces of unfamiliar house elves glanced back towards them. Most seemed to have a look of disdain upon seeing Dobby. Harry had no idea why, but besides Dobby, Kreacher and Winky, most house elves looked so similar, he couldn’t tell the difference between them.

Dobby seemed to shift awkwardly, his large eyes bulging. “Winky is… recuperating.”

“Recuperating?” 

“Winky is having a bad recovery from drinks last night.” Dobby kicked his feet against the stone floor of the kitchen.

“I uh… have something to give her.” The handkerchief felt unduly heavy in his pocket. “Can you bring me to her?”

Dobby looked over his shoulder to the other house elves who were hard at work. “Dobby can take you, but you mustn’t tell anyone else, Harry Potter.”

Harry made a zipping motion across his lips. “I won’t say anything. I just want to help.”

Dobby smiled, his eyes watering, and grabbed Harry’s hand. They apparated with a crack in the air. 

Harry caught his balance and withheld his urge to vomit as he took in his surroundings. They were… on the seventh floor?

“I didn’t know you could apparate in Hogwarts,” he said. “Hermione’s only told us a dozen times it’s impossible.”

Dobby started wringing his hands. “House elves have special magic, sir. Even places wizards cannot apparate, house elves can. Winky is just in here.”

He nodded to a tapestry of a strange wizard doing what looks like attempting to teach trolls ballet. Harry reached for the tapestry, but was interrupted by his house elf friend.

“No, no, no,” Dobby interrupted, shaking his head. He began pacing in front of the room, once, twice, three times.

“Dobby?”

“It is being open, now, Harry Potter,” said Dobby. He rushed over to Harry’s side and grabbed his hand.

A door appeared across from the tapestry. Harry blinked as Dobby pulled him into the room. 

It was large, to say the very least. The walls were painted a pastel green and a single couch laid against one wall. On that couch was the prone form of a house elf. 

“What is this place, Dobby?” asked Harry.

“This is what the house elves call the Come and Go room, or the Room of Requirement to others,” explained Dobby. “A room a person can only enter if they have a need of something. Winky has been staying here when Winky needs to sleep off hangovers.”

_ Hmm. So the house elves know of this room. _

Tom’s voice startled Harry after having been silent for so long.  _ ‘ _ You’ve been in here before? _ ’ _

_ Yes. I know everything of Hogwarts. _

Winky stirred on the other end of the room.

Harry looked back at Dobby. “Can she be woken up?”

“Winky should be okay.” Dobby stood off to one side as Harry walked over to where Winky laid.

She looked to be almost drowning in blankets, shivering slightly. Harry placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and shook it. Her body moved with relatively little force and her large eyes snapped open, bloodshot. 

“H-harry Potter--” She instantly sat up and burst into tears.

“Hey, there’s no need.” He held both of his hands out.

Winky looked up at Harry with tearful eyes and trembled uncontrollably. If butterbeer could do that...

He reached into his pocket and took out Crouch's handkerchief. He felt a bit dumb holding it out now, but the poor house elf on the couch was still shaking, whether in cold, fear, or due to drinking, he had no idea. 

"Here," he said, holding out the small square of fabric. Winky looked at it suspiciously, before taking it into her dainty hands and sobbing into it. Harry stood stiffly. "Um... That used to belong to your master. Mr. Crouch?"

She gasped and recoiled from the handkerchief. "M-master C-crouch?"

Harry scratched his head. "Yeah. He wanted you to have it."

She broke out sobbing once more. "M-master--" Her anguish scraped against Harry's ears and he couldn't figure out why exactly she was still crying. Unless she was happy? Although, she sounded more in pain than anything.

_ Perhaps she considers handkerchiefs clothing items,  _ suggested Tom’s voice.

Oh no.

"He just wanted to give you something to remember him by," corrected Harry. "He didn't mean it to hurt you, or anything--"

_ I am more inclined to believe he did.  _

That manipulating-- 

Winky would not stop sobbing no matter what. 

Harry looked back at Dobby who stood frozen at the door to the Room of Requirement. He looked between Harry and Winky sadly. 

_ Not all house elves are like Dobby, Harry. _

Perhaps there was nothing he could do. 

"Winky--" said Harry in a firm tone-- "Mr. Crouch had one last order for you. Do you want to hear it?"

She looked up, her red eyes nearly bulging out of her head. "Master had an o-order?"

Harry gulped and looked back at Dobby once more. His eyes had softened. "Yeah. He told me he wanted you to stay happy and healthy, even after he let you go." He gave her a pointed look. "I think he would be very disappointed if he saw you now." 

Okay, well, maybe that wasn't the best choice of words.

_ Well done, Harry. A reasonably believable lie. Although, with questionable purpose and a questionable target, I would say. _

She broke out into tears once more, holding her head in her shaky hands. "Bad, bad elf, Winky is such a bad elf--"

Suddenly, a thin, leathery object appeared on the ground next to the couch. Harry jumped in surprise. 

A whip.

Winky looked at the object, eyes glistening and reached for it with a jerk. Before Harry could move, she had brought it across her back with a crack. Her thin clothing had shifted and her skin reddened with a painful looking welt. 

She hadn't had a chance to bring it down one more time before Harry wrenched it from her grasp. 

Where the hell had this come from? Could the room literally just summon items out of nowhere?

Winky looked up at him, eyes quivering, body shaking. 

"Hurting yourself is not taking care of yourself, Winky."

She trembled and broke out into sobs once more, throwing herself back onto the couch and between the blankets.

Harry stood over her awkwardly, while she would not stop sobbing. The whip felt heavy in his palm and he dropped it to the floor. He sighed and made his way back to the door to Dobby, who was tearing up himself. Harry frowned sadly at him. Dobby threw himself at Harry's legs and wept into his trousers, while Harry couldn't bring himself to cry. A hollow ache just persisted in his chest.

Dobby took his hand and led them out of the Room of Requirement.

They were silent as they walked the hall to Gryffindor Tower. When the Fat Lady's portrait came into view, Harry stopped. 

"Do you think she'll be okay?" 

Dobby started tearing up again. "Dobby will help Winky-- but Harry Potter must have helped, Dobby knows he did. Harry Potter is a good person." He dropped Harry's hand out of his own.

Harry stared down at the house elf. "I hope so, Dobby." He walked back to Gryffindor Tower alone.

 

* * *

 

Later that night, Harry received a mirror call from Sirius. He had completely forgotten about the offer Sirius had made in regards to getting Remus to come over and talk in the mirror, but apparently, he had kept his word. Maybe Remus could actually help clarify a few things about dragons and, more specifically, thestrals and dragons.

He was absolutely insane, but his idea was the only way he could possibly fathom surviving a dragon without magic. 

"Harry!" came Sirius' excited voice from the mirror.

"Hello, Harry," said Remus, a bit calmer, but still smiling.

The two looked quite the pair, with Sirius’ handsome grin and Remus’ slightly scruffy, but otherwise charming appearance. Harry could see the drawing room of Grimmauld Place in the background.

He laughed. "Hey, you two. How's it going in London?"

"Boring." "Quite busy, actually."

Both responses came at the same time and they both laughed.

"Well, I'll leave you and Moony to talk alone, now," said Sirius. "Make sure to give the mirror back when you're done." He winked at Remus who scoffed.

Harry laughed, grateful to have the common room to himself that night.  

Sirius disappeared out of sight from the mirror, and Harry could hear the sound of footsteps indicating he had left the room. 

“Before you ask your question, Harry, I just want to say how proud of you I am,” said Remus.  

Harry was taken aback. 

Remus gave him a sad look. “It must be very difficult to be in the position you are in at the moment. Once again, you are being thrust into situations boys your age should never even dream of having to endure, yet year after year, you walk away unscathed. Please--” he pleaded -- “Be careful, Harry. I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if something ever happened to you. If you ever need any help, you can talk to either me or Sirius. ”

“Actually,” began Harry. “That’s the reason I wanted to talk to you, Remus.”

Remus raised an eyebrow curiously. “Yes?”

“Uh… What do you know about dragons?”

The older man began shaking his head. “Dragons?” He sighed. “I cannot believe the ministry would allow that.”

“I’ve already come to terms this is going to be awful, yes, but even worse, how would I go about dealing with a dragon…   _ without _ magic?”

Remus blinked. “Is that the challenge?”

Harry shook his head. “I… may have forgotten to mention to Sirius last time we spoke, but my magic has been acting up recently.”

“Harry--”

“Dumbledore thinks it has something to do with Voldemort trying to come back this year,” Harry interrupted. “I mean, we’ve already established he’s trying to kill me through the Tournament. I’m guessing he’s tried to weaken me somehow to make absolutely sure that I die?”

Remus sighed. “That would mean… I can only imagine a curse being so long-term, but never have I ever heard of magic being used to attack another’s directly. It is impossible. Unless it has to do with your connection through your scar…”

Harry gulped. “I mean… I’ve been having weird dreams lately. Like, I knew the Triwizard Tournament and the World Cup were going to happen before I should have” He frowned. “They seemed so real, I just-- I don’t know.”

“What dream did you find out about the Tournament in?” Remus puzzled, his eyebrows furrowing.

“I remember seeing Bertha Jorkins, crystal clear before I even met her,” he began. “And then… it was all a blur, but I felt like I was looking through someone’s memories, her memories, when I heard it mentioned.”

Remus blinked, a grave expression on his face. “Harry… Bertha Jorkins is dead.”

“What?” 

“She passed away last week. No one in the ministry knows why, which is why it wasn’t in the  _ Daily Prophet _ . Other than a bad cold, she was perfectly fine. Far too young for even a muggle to die. Sirius and I heard of it from Arthur when we went to dinner at the Weasley’s one night.”

“Do you think--”

“Something is not right. I didn’t think much of it before, but you have made me reevaluate the situation…” Remus said slowly. His eyebrows furrowed once more.

“Uh-- Remus?”

“Ah-- yes, Harry?” He looked back up.

“Can we go back to the fact I have to survive an encounter with a dragon without my wand?” Harry blanched. “I mean, I have an idea, but it’s absolutely mad. I don’t know if it will work with a dragon of all animals.”

Remus ran his hands through his hair and sighed. “Alright. What is your idea, Harry?”

As Harry explained, Remus’ eyes widened as he went on.

“I’m not sure if your father had more of an influence on you, or if Sirius has--” He chuckled. “Your plan, theoretically, should work. Although I cannot imagine what the audience will think when you do it.”

Harry grinned. “Maybe I could bring my dad’s cloak--”

“No,” Remus said firmly. “I don’t think that would be the best idea. You would not want every wizard and witch in Britain suddenly wondering where you got the ability to become completely invisible from. They may not automatically assume you have a cloak, but the premise would arise, certainly.”

Harry laughed. “Then I guess I’ll have to settle for just scaring the audience half to death.”

 

* * *

 

 

Of course, when the time of the event came in November, Harry ended up with the most dangerous dragon of all. Fleur Delacour got the Welsh Green, Viktor Krum the Chinese Fireball, Cassius Warrington the Swedish Short-Snout, and he, the Hungarian Horntail.

He was to be last. He sat in the tent, listening to the oohs and ahs and gasps and cheers from the audience, but couldn’t see a single thing. Fleur had been the first to go, and the tell-tale cheering indicated she had gotten the golden egg. Krum went next and he, too, was successful, greeted by cheers as well.

Warrington had been out there for ten minutes now, and Harry hadn’t heard a single sound. It was unnerving, and he couldn’t help but feel his anxiety build.  _ What was going on? _

_ I doubt he’s died, or there would have been much more screaming. _

‘Well, duh, Riddle.’

_ I’m still not sure whether I approve of your idea or not. I can respect your ingenuity, but not your sense of self-preservation.’ _

Harry felt hyper-aware of his body, his heartbeat, the breaths he breathed in and out, the tapping of his foot. He tried to ignore this, but as he retreated into his mind he couldn’t help but wonder if Riddle could be reading his thoughts at every moment.

It was unnerving and the fact that his unwanted guest did not respond made him even more anxious.

The sound of applause and yelling broke him out of his (and Riddle’s) thoughts.

Ludo Bagman looked at him from next to the tent flap, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You’re up, Harry.”

His stomach lurched, and he gave a weak smile as he walked out of the tent and into the lion’s den.

Or, rather, he was the lion walking into the dragon’s den.

A very angry  _ mother _ dragon’s den.

Harry fiddled with his wand, despite knowing it would probably cause more harm than good. He could feel everyone’s eyes on him at once, including the Hungarian Horntail’s. He didn't dare to move.

Perhaps he should have prepared a plan B, just in case. 

The dragon snorted, her breath loud and heavy. She slapped her spiky tail against the ground in front of her nest. The golden egg glinted under the sunlight and Harry could feel the heat already getting to him. Whether it was the dragon's breath or the sun, he didn't know.

He imagined he only had one shot at this, or else the dragon would be provoked and would attack him.

Never had he actually practiced what he was about to do, but he had replayed it over and over again in his head. He had to get it right the first time.

Harry cleared his throat. The dragon huffed and sparked rained down from her perch. The audience was dead silent.

He summoned his voice from the furthest reaches of his throat and mimicked the noise he had heard Hagrid make that night weeks before. A shriek he hadn't known he was capable of echoed across the arena, through the stands, and, hopefully, into the nearby woods. He could only hope the sound reached its intended target.

The Hungarian Horntail was not particularly receptive to his shrieking-- rather, livid. She flapped her wings, and the air whipped around them. Raising her head high into the air, she let out a wretched screech. 

Her clawed feet stepped down nimbly, all the while Harry had not moved from his starting position.

A voice broke the silence from the audience and yelled from the stands.“Harry! Do something--” Harry looked up to see Ron standing in the distance. 

He smiled as the other Gryffindors started cheering him on as well. At least, until a horned tail swung toward him. He ducked as quickly as he could and felt the tail graze against his back.

Come on…

The sound of wings flapping broke the air. Harry could hear the difference between the scaled wings of the dragon and the leathery wings of his soon-to-be savior.

Harry sprinted behind a rock formation as the dragon rumbled in anger. A spit of fire hissed across the ground. He dodged just in time to find the thestral landing on its feet next to him.

Skeletally thin, black as death as always, it looked down at Harry with its seemingly all-knowing eyes.

“Tenebrus?” Harry whispered.

The thestral snorted in response.

Harry reached out a hand to pet Tenebrus. His skin felt smooth under his fingertips. Harry was brought back to reality by a thud of heavy feet from around the pile of rocks. 

He felt the heat of the dragon’s breath just through her breathing on him. It was now or never; she was, after all, not able to guard her nest  _ and  _ chase after him.

Looking back up at Tenebrus, he slung his leg over the thestrals torso and willed his legs to get the rest of his body up. Having no saddle or reins or anything to aid his grip, he clutched his arms around the stallion’s neck. Tenebrus himself whinnied, and Harry worried he would rear.

The thestral trotted away from the dragon, who had gone completely still next to the rocks.

_ I can barely believe that this worked, Harry.  _

‘Neither can I.’

_ Your luck knows no limits. _

Harry tried to lean over to the direction of the nest to get Tenebrus to turn. “I need to get the golden egg.” 

Tenebrus huffed in what Harry assumed was a response and turned to trot over to the nest.

_ This must be a very strange image to those who cannot see thestrals. _

‘Goodbye dignity.’

_ I wonder how long it will take for the writers at the Daily Prophet to figure it out. _

Tenebrus stopped in front of the rock pile the Horntail’s nest laid upon. Looking over his shoulder, Harry could see the dragon had not moved from its position whatsoever, except to turn and watch the two other creatures in her territory. He couldn’t have imagined a dragon, of all creatures, looking terrified but… she simply looked resigned, as if she fully expected her eggs to be taken away.

Harry hopped off of Tenebrus’ back and took a slow step toward the nest. The dragon blinked. He stumbled towards the pile of rocks, gripping the cold stones in his hands and he climbed the stack in a flurry. Despite his hurry, he could not hear the dragon make a single move behind his back.

He reached the nest itself and came face to face with the golden egg. The moment he laid his hands on it, a horn blared.

“Harry Potter has retrieved the golden egg!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Maurie @mau-demort for betaing <3
> 
> I answer asks and post funnies on tumblr @thelastnero.
> 
> Thank you all for reading, giving kudos, and commenting <3
> 
> Also BIG ANNOUNCEMENT. I am participating in NaNoWriMo this month and I have no idea how that will affect my updating schedule, since I will not be editing as I go and I would prefer to not post unedited/unbetaed chapters. I may not have time to edit AND write, so there may be a lapse in updates this month. However, I will more than make up for it <3
> 
> I will be posting word-count updates on my tumblr :D


	13. Swan Lake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE READ THE WARNING AT THE BOTTOM OF THIS NOTE.
> 
> I LIED. NO LAPSES IN UPDATES. WHO NEEDS FREE TIME.  
> Just kidding, but honestly, Nano is going pretty decently (hey, I'm only 2,000 words behind), and my beta is working very quickly. :o If I can catch up on my word-count, I might just start posting as soon as I finish editing chapters as I go.
> 
> !!!Trigger warning: Non-explicit depiction of a nonviolent rape by a side character.

“His own image; no longer a dark, gray bird, ugly and disagreeable to look at, but a graceful and beautiful swan. To be born in a duck's nest, in a farmyard, is of no consequence to a bird, if it is hatched from a swan's egg.” 

\- Hans Christian Andersen

 

Harry was let out of the arena, clutching the egg, absolutely no worse for wear. There were cheers in the crowd, yes, but they were muted by the adrenaline still pumping from his brain through his veins. It felt as if nothing had actually happened. 

He was thrown back in the tent with the other champions as the judges were left to deliberate. 

Fleur gave him a peculiar, squinty look, while Krum simply looked curious. Or as curious as his stern face would allow, Harry thought.

As he took a seat, Warrington slouched across the tent over to him. 

Warrington was a bulky young man, a bit on the short side. His dirty blonde hair seemed to stick up in multiple directions. Harry imagined it could have been tamed if Warrington cared enough to do so, based on Harry’s experience with his own hair.

"A very peaceful strategy, Potter," he said. "I'm trying to remember, but I don't think we've ever actually talked before. So-- I am Cassius." Warrington stuck out a dirty hand to Harry.

"Uh-- Harry. But you already know that." 

Warrington snickered. "You're going to get first, you know."

Harry blinked. "What?"

"You took ze least amount of time of us all, 'Arry," said Fleur. Harry looked upon to see a long scratch across her face. 

"It'll be fine if she just goes to the medical wing."

Both Harry and Fleur looked toward Cassius. Krum didn't say a word, simply glancing at Cassius, before stealing another look at Harry.

"Excuze me?" asked Fleur.

"Your scratch. You'll be fine," repeated Cassius. He blinked, his face void of any emotion.

'He seems so...serious.'

_ Quite quick, I would say, despite his simple words. _

‘You've never seen him play Quidditch.'

_ Nor do I desire to watch a game that has absolutely no purpose whatsoever. _

Harry looked back over to Warrington. Cassius scratched his nose, unintentionally smudging dirt all over his face. He didn’t seem to be aware, but Harry didn’t speak up.

An awkward silence had spread throughout the champion's tent, until Ludo Bagman barged in once more, making as much noise as tent flaps possibly could.

He grinned as his eyes scanned across the four champions. "The judges have made their decisions. Come on out and we'll have our results."

 

* * *

 

Harry did receive first. There was a vast point difference between him and the next champion, Cassius, who had gotten second. After him came Fleur in third, then Krum in last place. He hadn’t known what to expect, but was a bit disappointed to see Krum did so badly. Maybe it was just Ron’s fanaticism over the Quidditch star rubbing off on him.

The Gryffindors had erupted in cheers, patting Harry so hard on the back it was painful, but it was all in good fun. Hogwarts' own students had seemed to momentarily forget that Harry was an illegitimate champion and broke out in their own praises.

“Youngest seeker, youngest Hogwarts champion, bet you he’ll be the youngest Triwizard Tournament champion by the time he’s done.”

“He didn’t even have to lift his wand!”

Someone had brought out the same bloody Gryffindor banner as before and wrapped it around Harry’s neck. He had quite the crowd of followers around him at once point. Eventually, he stole away to be left alone so he could talk to Ron and Hermione.

They broke off and ended up sitting near the docks of the Black Lake. Durmstrang’s last students had piled onto their ship for the evening, despite the sun not having set yet. Whether that was normal or they were feeling particularly distraught over their champion’s placement in the first task, Harry had no idea.

He kept a particularly close eye on Karkaroff who, surprisingly, did not show much sign of disappointment. There wasn’t much sign of  _ anything _ on his face, which made Harry wonder. When it came to the judging, he had been surprised to see he had received a relatively high score from Karkaroff, at least compared to Madam Maxine, who seemed to be attempting to undercut her competition. Dumbledore and Crouch had given him fair numbers, in his opinion, while Ludo Bagman gave him the highest score out of all the champions.

“I still don’t know what’s up with Karkaroff, to be honest,” Harry told Hermione and Ron. His legs swayed over the water as he sat on the dock, the golden egg in his lap. “I’m not sure if he’s being blackmailed or if he did it of his own free will.”

“It doesn’t make sense that he would give you such a good score, though,” said Hermione thoughtfully. “You’re his opponent, technically. If he  _ is _ working for You-Know-Who, he would want to give you every disadvantage possible in order to... well... Make sure you don’t get out alive. Whoever has the highest amount of points after the first two tasks gets an advantage in the third, most dangerous task.”

Ron interjected. “Well, wouldn’t it out him if he kept giving only Harry bad scores, though? He can’t be seen having a grudge against him or people  _ would  _ get suspicious.”

“But would it really be so suspicious, considering he’s the rival headmaster?” Hermione queried.

Harry turned over the egg in his hands and sighed. “At first I thought I just wanted to get out of this alive, but we’ll have bigger problems if Voldemort is coming back--”

There was a grunt from behind them.

All three Gryffindors jumped in surprise. Harry nearly toppled into the water and would have if Ron hadn’t reached out a hand to hold him in place. The golden egg wasn’t so lucky. It plunked into the dark waters of the lake and Harry knew that there was no possible way he was going to be able to retrieve it, if he valued his life at least. 

_ I guess you’re not entirely suicidal. I stand corrected.  _

“Dammit--”

“Vhat did you just say?”

Harry flinched at the gruff voice. Standing behind him was... Viktor Krum?

He held his hands in the pockets of his fur-lined coat, a ushanka atop his shaved head. While the air was chilly, Harry thought he was a bit overdressed.

Hermione had narrowed her eyes at him, and Ron stood defensively between Harry and Krum, his hand still gripping Harry’s shoulder.

Rage curled inside Harry and it took all he could not to curse Krum.

“I said ‘dammit’, I just lost my clue thanks to you--”

_ Sabotage, to be expected. He couldn’t do well on his own, so he’s playing dirty-- Well, we’ll show him-- _

Krum didn’t look perturbed. “I meant vhat you said before.”

“How much of that did you hear?” asked Hermione carefully.

Harry had trouble understanding why he was so  _ angry _ at that very moment, but in his current position, he’d have to barrel through Ron before getting to Krum.

"I vas valking past when I heard your friend mention my headmaster." Krum recoiled. "Ov course, I vould stop to listen, Hermione."

Ron spat into the water. "On a first name basis with him, already, are you Hermione?"

"No!" denied Hermione. A peculiar flush tinted her cheeks. "He's been hanging around me ever since that day in the library. He's trying to get information and he isn't being very subtle." She scowled at Krum.

"I-- vell," he sputtered and scratched his head. "I vant to know vhat is going on. You mentioned... Lord Voldemort, yes?"

So he  _ had _ heard their conversation.

_ Curious. I wonder if he is a supporter. Durmstrang is renowned for its Dark Arts, after all.  _

"I don't see why this concerns you. Just forget what you heard," said Harry.

"If he has returned, then it concerns everyvone," said Krum, a pointed look in his eyes. 

“Why don’t you ask your own headmaster then?” Ron bit sarcastically. “Isn’t he training you all up to be death eaters yourselves?”

Krum clenched his fists by his side but his rage did not echo on his face. He spoke slowly. “I cannot speak for everyvone, but I do not agree with that. Lord Voldemort was Britain’s creation. My headmaster vas an exception and he learned from his mistakes.”

“Only after a trip to Azkaban--”

“Perhaps that is so,” Krum admitted, grumbling. His eyes cast out over the lake. “I do not know vhat he is doing now, however. I am confused. Karkaroff has not been speaking to me.” 

Harry raised an eyebrow. “I thought all of the schools had agreed to just cheat and help their champions.”

“It’s tradition,” said Hermione, opening her eyes wider.

‘If Karkaroff is working vith Lord Voldemort, I vant no part. Ve do not need another vizarding var.”

The trio exchanged looks.

_ He could be lying. _

Hermione bit her lip. "I suppose I can agree with that. Too many died when You-Kn-- I mean, Voldemort was at large the first time."   
"I mean, ve do not need another Grindelvald."

Harry blinked. "You mean the dark wizard Dumbledore defeated?"

Krum nodded. "If he is using Karkaroff, he may be trying to expand throughout Europe vonce more. He failed the first time, but..."

"But what?" asked Ron, indignantly.

"My own classmates are further removed from Grindelvald. Vhile our professors remember, the students do not. Even their parents only had stories from their own parents to tell their children. Vhile people used to be against vhat Grindelvald said before, it is not so now. My classmates joke about such things."

"So, Karkaroff may be trying to recruit his own students?" asked Hermione in surprise.

"You just gave us another reason not to believe you, you realise," said Harry.

_ That is true, perhaps, but would Krum give away so much information if he was truly against Lord Voldemort? He could have simply walked past and been over with it. _

'Says the teenager who tried to kill all the muggleborns in Hogwarts himself.'

Krum stood silent for a moment, looking down at his boots. The sound of Durmstrang's boat bobbing against the water filled the brief silence. "I can vatch Karkaroff for your own headmaster."

_ Well, that's a surprise. _

For some reason, Harry felt himself stiffen with anger. His own mind questioned this emotion and he furrowed his brow. "Watch him?"

"He has not been helping me vith the tournament, as I expected. If he is vorking with Voldemort, then they must be communicating somehow. If ve can get information to your Dumbledore, then that will help, yes?" Krum looked up from his boots, his eyebrows raised and hazel eyes widened. He reminded Harry vaguely of a puppy looking for approval.

"That would help a lot, actually," said Hermione. She seemed awestruck. "All we know now is that they're trying to kill Harry through the Triwizard Tournament somehow."

_ Perhaps it may not have been wise to give away  _ **all** _ of your information. _

'Oh, shut up.'

Krum looked back at the water, frowning. "Ve can vork together."

"What?" Harry was caught off guard.

"My mentor is not helping me. You have none." Krum raised an eyebrow. "I also ruined your clue. I can at least help vith the second task. My egg is back in the ship."

"I mean--" Harry scratched the back of his neck-- "That'd be great, yeah."

Suddenly, a door slammed in the distance. Four heads turned in the direction of the ship and Krum took a step back.

"It probably vould not be good for me to be seen talking vith you, right now," he said, looking between the trio and the ship. "But I vill keep in contact. Letters vould vork for you?"

"Yeah, that'd work," agreed Harry.

Krum gave a smile and stuck out his hand. Harry got a strange sense of deja-vu, remembering the situation that had occurred weeks previous. Even stranger was the smile of Krum's face which actually seemed genuine, especially when compared to the smarmy smirk that had been on Malfoy's face. Come to think of it, this was the first real emotion Harry had even seen Krum show, at least that he could remember from their limited interactions.

Harry took Krum's hand in his. "Thanks."

"You are velcome. I just vant to help."

 

* * *

 

News came of the winter ball the following breakfast. Harry wasn't particularly excited, but Ron was horrified upon discovery.

"This is bad," he moaned dramatically.

"Dates can't be that hard to get," said Seamus from across the table. "You're Harry's friend, after all."

"I think you underestimate our brother, Seamus," called one of the twins.

Harry laughed. "It can't be that bad, Ron."

"It's not the dates I'm worried about. It's-- it's that  _ thing _ I have to wear."

"Well, that's why you don't show your date what you're going to wear before the Yule Ball," another Gryffindor snickered. Their section of the table broke out in laughter.

"I mean, you don't  _ have  _ to get a date," said Harry. "Only me and the other champions are required."

Ron sighed.

The end of breakfast came and the dishes disappeared one by one. The Gryffindors stood and began making their way out of the Great Hall.

"Just don't leave it until the last minute, you two," Hermione warned.

"Wait," said Ron, frowning in contemplation. "What are you going to do, Hermione?"

Hermione huffed. "I don't need a date. I wish girls weren't expected to have to have dates for these sorts of things or risk being ridiculed just because they prefer to be alone."

Ron and Harry exchanged glances.

"Harry!" An airy voice called out. It was familiar, but he couldn't quite place who it belonged to.

Harry turned in his seat to see a blonde girl bouncing towards him.

That was... the girl he met at the beginning of the year-- Luna, he remembered. A few of his classmates looked in his direction, giving him strange glances.

"Oh, hello again," said Harry. "It's Luna right?"

She smiled softly. "Yes. You did wonderfully during your First Task."

He blinked. "Oh, uh--" He scratched his neck-- "Yeah. Thanks. And thank you, for what you told me at the beginning of this year. I don't know if I would have been very comfortable with it otherwise."

"They're beautiful creatures," Luna said, walking alongside Harry. "It is good that someone can befriend one and put aside their reputation."

"Yeah," Harry laughed. "They're not so bad. Tenebrus-- uh, the one I rode during the task-- sort of just liked me automatically. He grew on me."

Luna gave a small giggle.

Harry glanced over at Ron and Hermione, who were talking slowly about something he couldn't hear. Hermione's eyes met Harry's and she nodded towards him. When Harry raised an eyebrow, Ron's head turned and he gave a thumbs-up.

_ Oh. _

They thought he was--

Oh. Well, maybe it wouldn’t be too bad to go with her. He could acknowledge that she was pretty, at least, even though she was a bit younger than him.

_ It is your decision. Appearances do matter, and a date is required. It would not do for you to show up alone.  _

For some reason, Riddle’s voice inside his head seemed unnecessarily curt in its tone.

Harry looked back to Luna who seemed blissfully unaware of the exchange that just occurred.

"Uh, hey, Luna?"

She looked up, her clear blue eyes meeting his. "Yes?"

Harry gulped. 'Why do I feel so nervous? I barely know her.'

_ Probably hormones. Please keep yourself together, Potter. _

He almost scowled, but figured that wouldn't have been a good look to have while asking what he planned to.

"Would you... want to go to Yule ball with me?" he asked. "Like-- as my date?"

Her already large eyes widened in surprise. “You are asking me?” 

Harry blinked. That didn’t sound like promising. Was there something he  _ didn’t  _  know about her? “Uh, yeah? I mean, if you want to.” 

She searched his face for something, and while Harry felt slightly uncomfortable, he held fast and didn’t make a move.

“I would love to, Harry.” Luna smiled softly at him.

  
  


* * *

 

Standing in front of a long mirror, the boy adjusted his dress robes-- a dark cobalt in contrast to his pale complexion as well as his dark eyes and hair. Imperfections were easier to hide under dark colors, lest the light reveal tears or stains. He’d learned that from his days at Wool’s. He couldn’t afford new robes with his meager savings, and it would be be social suicide to ask any of his housemates for assistance. He had not yet made it with them yet, had not yet earned their respect. Playing the poor orphan only benefited him around those who did not see pity as a sign of weakness and he would not have the ladder ripped out from under him just as soon as he started climbing it.

That night was to be the night he proved his refinement-- that his meager beginnings provided not liability, but opportunity. He who had never been taught sophistication devoted himself to studying the proper, traditional way of doing things to impress his peers. They with their private tutors and Pureblood ancestry only made themselves inferior in their complacency with their acceptance that they had learned all there was to learn. Only he understood the method and benefit of complete mastery.

He had secured himself an adequate date-- a witch older than him by two years who had been endeared to him during one of his many group study sessions. She and her friends giggled whenever he passed, like a gaggle of geese. Whenever he spoke to her in particular, she got this dreamy glow in her otherwise dull green eyes. She was pretty enough, a Ravenclaw and a pureblood, but didn’t have any particularly great talent or ability. Well enough, she was liked among her peers and had enough stature to become a prefect. Considering Tom was not in a position yet to be choosy, she was a decent option for his first Yule ball. No one had asked him when he was a third year, and now that he was in his fourth year, he couldn’t simply not show up. Or worse yet, show without a date.

It was a bit annoying that she now followed him everywhere in between their classes after he had asked her to the ball, fawning over him like they were some sort of couple. Tom half expected her to start pinching his cheeks with how often she went on about his “adorableness”. He never quite understood how people could let themselves get so flustered over any particular person. Maybe it was just the people around him-- him being so superior, of course he wouldn’t be attracted to the common rabble.

That must have been it. He just simply smiled and made just the right amount of eye contact when it was called for and all was well.

Luckily, tonight, there would be enough people that he could easily separate himself from her if she became too much. He prided himself on his people-handling skills, but it wouldn’t do to let himself become overstrained. He had an appearance to keep up, after all.

He met with his date and they entered the Yule ball hand-in-hand. They got a few probing looks from his classmates, except Tom did not melt under their stares but  _ preened _ . Maybe his date was a strategic choice after all-- none of his fellow Slytherins had obtained a date as high-profile as his, let alone an  _ older  _ girl.

“Tom,” she giggled. He held his gaze neutral and tilted his head in a way he knew shifted his hair to form an attractive pose. “Could we…?” She leaned toward him, brushing her hand against his.

Dancing-- a necessary evil of such events.

He put on a shy, knowing smile. “Would you like to dance?”

Her face flushed a light pink. “I would like that very much.”

Tom lead her to the ballroom floor and went through the practiced motions he had taught himself weeks prior. Thankfully, the dance was neither particularly upbeat nor slow paced. He pulled away when their dance was finished and began walking towards a table.

It took him a few moments to discern the theme for that year's ball, but with the context, it soon became apparent. The white tablecloths, the deep blue decorations that he had unknowingly matched with his dress robes, the piano and violin duet playing in the background. All quite elegant and quite somber-- Tom would have approved if it hadn't been an obvious product of their Muggle Studies professor attempting to bring a muggle-written ballet into a wizarding setting.

He didn't think any of the purebloods knew. Of course, he would not speak a word of it. He sat at the table and minded his own business. His date saddled alongside him and took a seat next to his.

"You're such a swell dancer, Tom," she said, smiling softly. She held her hands in the lap of her dress neatly.

He gave an amused exhale of air. "And yet I cannot compare to you," he began "But I think I see one of my friends and his date over there. I'll go get us some drinks while I'm up."

She rocked in her chair and grinned widely, showing her teeth. When she realised what she had done, she gasped and covered her mouth. Her face was aflame.

Tom did not respond to her expression, turning toward the group of Slytherin boys who had gathered towards a bowl of punch.

He played their game and schmoozed and played humble, forgetting about his date he had left over in the corner. He had glanced over and saw she was now sitting a group of other girls he recognized as Ravenclaws in her year. Never did he meet her eyes.

Tom was certain that his classmates were beginning to respect him somewhat. His intelligence was impossible to ignore, his charisma impossible to resist, and his work ethic unmatchable. He simply had a way of making others do what he wanted, no matter how hard they resisted.

It had been a long road, but his merit was beginning to shine through. With the support he was gathering, perhaps he could change the world-- well, perhaps not. The world was, after all, a large, cruel place with little he could possibly gain from it. Britain, however, primarily London, was a trove he wished to capitalize on. He was confident he could gain influence and be able to change his home country someday in the image he desired.

His glass of punch had been drained throughout his conversation and Tom decided to take another stop at the punchbowl, away from his group of friends. He needed some sort of time away from them in order to replenish his energy.

A small group surrounded the table where lied his destination but he saw an opening he could easily take. He pressed in and grasped the ladle, filling his cup with clear red fluid once more. The floating candles of the ballroom flickered and showed their dancing yellow light in the reflection of the punch bowl. As Tom looked down, he assessed his appearance through his reflection-- not a hair out of place, nothing embarrassing on his face that he could have missed while talking.

A shadow fell over the punch bowl and he saw another face reflected back at him in the red. He blinked and postured himself before his date.

"Ah, I'm so sorry. I got caught by some of my friends and the time got away from me." Tom gave a sheepish smile. "Would you ever forgive me?"

Her dull eyes fluttered, and she peeked through her thin eyelashes. She clenched the soft material of her dress, looking down, then back up at Tom. "I..." she began wistfully. 

A feminine voice called across the room and Tom's date looked up. She looked between him and the source of the voice, giving a soft smile. "I can forgive you, if you spend the rest of the evening with me."

He lowered his eyelids and flashed a charming grin. "It would be my pleasure."

Perhaps he had neglected his date too much that night and he would now have to pay the price for it. Oh well, he thought. This is a learning experience, after all-- it was his first formal event. Luckily, his mistakes weren't quite mistakes but mismanagements of his time. He had however made quite the impression on his peers that night, so it was not all for naught.

She took his hand shyly and led him over to another white cloaked table, surrounded by a group of girls. He felt as though he was being eyed up from all angles. If he could compare the feeling to anything at all, it would compare to how he first felt when entering the Slytherin common room in his first year-- figuratively and literally entering the snake's pit.

"Tom Riddle, isn't it?" A hufflepuff girl asked from across the table. She twirled her hair around her finger and leaned forward.

"Yes, it is," he said politely. 

A few of them giggled. 

Tom didn't often feel out of place, but he did at that very moment. Under the dimmed lights and between the dark blue blues and sparkly decorations, surrounded by conversations of jewelry and boys and outfits, he felt as though he would be much more productive elsewhere. Not that he would show it, of course. His charming smile never left and he was as courteous as ever. He nodded and responded appropriately when he needed to while his mind was in a different place. Tom supposed he could use this time for thinking and planning; he could do worse.

The night was beginning to draw to a close when he felt a tug on his robe sleeve.

"Tom?"

He refocused his eyes on his date, having been staring past her. "Yes?"

Her eyes shifted back and forth erratically, as if she was contemplating something in her head. "Could you... get me a drink?"

Tom eyed her glass and found it to be empty. His was still quite full next to hers, its red liquid thick and, in the dim lighting, shadowed. Particles of light flit across his punch.

"Of course, I could." He rose from his chair, grateful to stretch his legs. He took her empty glass in his hand and brought it with him to the punch table once more.

At the table, he pulled out his wand and cast a quiet  _ Tempus _ . 11:20. The ball would end in forty minutes. He sighed.

"There's a clock right there, you know," said a voice. 

Tom looked up to meet the eyes of an older girl, whom he recognized as Gryffindor's prefect. He followed her gaze to a clock on the wall behind him. 

"Perhaps there was. I did not think to look," he admitted then sighed. "How has your night been so far, Minerva?" He lifted the ladle of liquid to his date’s glass and watched as the red swivelled in its container.

Minerva pushed a lock of her black hair behind her ear as she raised an eyebrow. "Quite eventful, I would say."

"Good events, I hope," he replied. "But I must be getting back to my date now, you see. Have a good night."

"And you as well... Riddle."

He returned to his date with a full glass and a feeling of dread towards the rest of the night. 

“Here you are… my dear,” said Tom, gently placing his date’s glass on the table in front of her.

She startled, evidently having been staring at the wood grain of the table, or perhaps watching the persistent tapping of her fingers. She blinked up at Tom, her mouth slightly open, before biting her lip.

“T-thank you.”

He cocked his head curiously.  _ Why is she still acting so shy? How dull. _

The other girls at the table giggled, but Tom ignored them.

She looked down at her glass, swirling the liquid and gazing intently into the red. Peeking through her eyelashes, her eyes landed on Tom once more. “Tom?”

“Yes?”

“I-- I’d like to make a toast.”

Tom arched an eyebrow in surprise, but reached for his glass nonetheless. It was still as full as he had left it, as red as blood, so murky he could scarce see his reflection.

His date bit her lip. “To new relationships.”

Tom bit back a grimace.  _ When would this end? _ “To new relationships.” He clinked his glass against hers, despite knowing that the whole thing was  _ ridiculous, there was no alcohol, this had no meaning, this was all a waste of time-- _

He took a sip of the pitiful red punch and the cherry flavor was especially sweet on his tongue. Maybe in the late of the evening, the sugar was simply more desirable. The glass met his lips once more and slowly, he drained his glass, the lights of the ballroom now seemingly so bright. He just wanted for the night to end--

“Tom?” A hand grazed against his own, and his face heated.  _ She was touching him, her skin was so soft. _

_ He looked up into her shining green eyes, so deep, so Slytherin green he could have fallen into them and drowned himself and been happy-- _

_ The dimmed lights formerly yellow had taken on a pink tint, catching onto the shine of her black hair. _

_ The corners of his mouth tilted on their own accord. “Yes, Marie?” _

_ Those same green eyes blinked rapidly, as if holding back tears. Of happiness, Tom could only hope, according to the pangs in his chest. _

_ “The night is growing late, Tom. I… believe it’s time for us to leave,” she said quietly. _

_ A twinge of pain struck him. “Leave? If I could, I would spend the entirety of the night with you.“ The words fell out of his mouth without a thought of his own. _

_ Her face burned a furious pink, like the gaudy dress she had been wearing that had looked more like a dead flamingo rather than a swan, as the theme of the night had dictated.  _

_ Her lower lip quivered, full, stained a scarlet red, as if it had been kissed swollen. _

_ “We could…” she whispered shyly. _

_ Tom took her by the hand and led her to the room no one else knew. _

 

* * *

 

He wandered out of the Room of Requirement the next morning, aware of what he had done but disbelieving nonetheless. 

The situation felt so surreal, as if it hadn’t happened, but the memories had remained. The last hours of the previous night had melded together, occurring in an amorphous stream of action and zero thought,  _ just feeling _ \-- 

It terrified him. He hadn’t a clue what had happened.

That was not him. He did not desire such a person in such a way, wanting to  _ possess _ a body instead of harming, controlling-- It was unnatural. It was not him, of that he was certain.

He had showed her the room, his special room that he had showed no one, that no one other than him had deserved to see and he had showed it to that filthy girl--

She was disgusting, he decided. He would cut off all contact. She could not be allowed to remember what had occurred that last night. He would walk back into the Room of Requirement, find her nude body still lying in the conjured sheets, and perform the strongest memory charm he knew.

He walked back into the room and found her exactly as he had left her. Her dead flamingo dress laid on the floor, her undergarments strewn every which way.

She laid like a ragdoll as he dressed her in her clothes from the night previous. He had particular trouble with the excessive ruffles and lace and determining where exactly to put her legs as he fumbled with her dress. He had finally situated her body, currently dead to the world, and had pulled up the torso of the garment when something fell out of the numerous layers and onto the floor next to the bed with a crash. A shard of glass bit into his foot and he hissed at the impact.

Tom reached down, glaring at the foreign object, before pulling it out of his foot. Holding it up to the light, he analyzed it. Soft pink glass, cut in a way that almost resembled a diamond, with a sort of nozzle he would expect a bottle of perfume to have. Except he found he could not press down on it, for there was no pump. It twisted, to be opened.

Opened, he swallowed silently to himself. He glanced back down at the other shards of glass that now laid on the floor and crouched down to get a better look. The sight of an upside down label drew his attention and he reached for it.

_ ‘Day Dreamer’s Desire: Make Your Fantasies Reality and Your True Love Come True--’ _

He realised in a flash what it was, his face contorting furiously as he stared back at the girl. 

She wouldn’t be able to remember any of this. That was for certain. This moment of weakness could jeopardize all he had worked for. There was no way of cutting this girl out of his life now-- not only had she seen the Room,  _ what would she say to her friends? ‘I was able to penetrate that cold demeanor, all he needs is a little of this in his drink--’ _

If this was love, if how she made him feel was exactly how  _ she _ felt, helpless, like he couldn’t control his own body and couldn't prevent himself from succumbing to some subconscious desire like some twisted form of dream fulfillment, he wanted no part. It was disgusting and went against all of his plans for  _ anything _ great in his life.

“Obliviate--” he bit with a sting.

 

* * *

 

 

Harry knew that the dream he had received the previous night had been Tom’s doing. He knew it-- it had seemed so real. The question was why?

He looked over to Luna who was currently talking to Hermione a few meters away. The Yule Ball was now in full swing and Harry, while grateful Luna did not press him to dance every other song like Ron’s date, Padma, still felt uncomfortable with all the extra attention being placed on him. That dream only put him further on edge.

Currently, he stood awkwardly by Krum in complete silence. Of all people, Hermione’s date had turned out to be Krum-- 

She could do much worse though, he thought. All those days in the library she had been trying to research things for the tournament for him… Krum had been beside her. Ron was still suspicious, but Harry was somewhat relieved they had spoken to Krum beforehand about the mess with Karkaroff and established his stance on the issue.

“So uh… any progress with the clue?” Harry asked, trying to make conversation.

“No,” Krum replied gruffly. “I have been trying since I last saw you, but no spell seems to silence the egg or change its message. It only screams.” He frowned.

“Right,” Harry drawled. “Well, we still have time. Maybe winter break’ll be a good time to think about it, while everyone’s not busy bothering you.”

Krum looked over his shoulder towards a group of Durmstrang boys and grimaced, bringing his eyes back to Harry, then towards Hermione. As if feeling his gaze on her, she glanced in their direction and smiled, motioning to Luna. 

They both walked towards Harry and Viktor.

“I love the decor they chose,” said Luna softly. She eyed the walls and ceiling, taking note of the numerous lights strewn throughout the room. “They must have put so much work into it.”

“They have to keep up appearances for the Triwizard Tournament, I guess,” Harry chuckled quietly. 

The group stood off in a corner removed from most of the main crowd of the ball. Krum had a tendency to try to stand directly in front of Harry, as if trying to use him as a human shield from view of the rest of the students. It didn’t work out very well, in Harry’s opinion, when he caught on, given Krum’s being taller than him. Nonetheless, he didn’t move until it was announced that the champions were to have their dance.

He reached out his hand to Luna, her own small, delicate hand slipping into his. His face heated pink, and he led them to the center of the ballroom alongside Hermione and Viktor, as well as the rest of the champions and their dates. Fleur Delacour stood beside some older Hufflepuff boy, while Cassius Warrington was quite obviously making eyes at his Slytherin girlfriend.

Harry remembered to lift his feet and not drag them, keeping his hands exactly where he had kept them when he had practiced with McGonagall. Luna was light on her feet and forgiving when he made any of his slight mistakes, smiling gently and continuing as if nothing had happened.

After the dance, he wandered over to the table of drinks and confectionaries, grabbing a glass to fill of his own. The punch was a deep scarlet. The lights, harsh in their brightness, illuminated the shade of the liquid, preventing any shadow from forming in its recesses.

He shuddered at the thought of the dream he had experienced the night previous and glanced back at Luna who had sat down at a table with Hermione, Viktor, and now Ron, who had returned with Padma. Her blue dress glittered under the light and she looked absolutely enraptured in her conversation with Viktor. Hermione was chatting with a sullen Ron, and Padma gazed somberly at her shoes, kicking her feet.

Taking a deep breath, he returned to his seat next to Luna who looked up and smiled at him. He returned the gesture awkwardly and took a sip of his punch. 

Krum, understanding that his conversation with Luna had just ended, rose to his feet and disappeared into the crowd on the ballroom floor.

“You seem shaken,” Luna acknowledged with a tilt of her head.

Harry blinked in surprise, but caught himself. “Shaken?”

“Something seems to be troubling you.”

He frowned. Was it troubling him? That something like...that could happen to someone his own age, at the one place he felt safest, in a similar event to the one he was currently attending?

It happened to Riddle, after all, but did that mean anything?

The voice is in his head was decidedly silent.

He decided it was...deeply unsettling.

“I guess something is.”

Her eyes fell knowingly, and she gave him a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry.” She paused for a moment, an odd emotion flashing in her eyes, before, without another word, reaching forward and wrapping her arms around Harry.

He froze and stiffened under her embrace, the images from his dream flashing through his head. She didn’t move, her arms not quite restrictive, but solidly gripping him nonetheless. He could escape, he realised as his heart threatened to leap out of his throat.

They were in broad daylight, no dimmed lights or shady corners or giggling girls who would only watch as questionable things would happen to boys of questionable morals and questionable ambitions.

Taking a deep breath, he willed his body to relax and to enjoy the contact. He wrapped his own arms around Luna in reciprocation and rested his chin on the top of her head. Her hair, as wispy as it had looked, was surprisingly soft and smelt faintly of the Black Lake’s docks.

“I hope everything turns out okay, Harry.”

A long sigh emitted from his lips. “So do I.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Maurey @mau-demort for betaing and providing me with your lovely reactions over discord <3
> 
> Check me out on tumblr @thelastnero <3 I answer any asks sent.
> 
> Thank you guys for all your support~
> 
> Also! A side-note. I now have a Ko-Fi, if any of you gentle souls would be so kind to support me <3 College is expensive, and I spend a lot of time writing this fic. I would appreciate anything <3 You can find it on my tumblr.


	14. Yuletide Interlude

“Recall last night, the snow was whirling,

Across the sky, the mist was twirling,

The moon, as though a pale dye,

Emerged in yellow through faint clouds.

And there you sat, immersed in doubts,

And now, - just take a look outside:”

-Aleksandr Sergeevich Pushkin

 

Quiet. 

It was so. Very. Quiet.

The trees were dead, no leaves in sight, except for the needles of the conifers that sparsely populated the area. Snow was only able to cling onto the branches of such trees, sliding off the sad, leafless husks left standing upright by only the sheer hope of being reborn the next spring.

Barty shivered.

Cold.

It was so. Very. Cold.

He did not wear a coat, nor scarf, nor gloves to fight the biting freeze of early winter. His hands rubbed against each other in an attempt to create any sort of warmth.

It was an unnerving night. He had become used to the feeling, however. His boots, the only appropriate garment for the season he had worn that night, fell through the fresh snow with the ease of waving a hand through the air.

His fingers twitched around the yew wand in his hand. He didn’t dare use a spell.

The town he passed through was worn and wooden, the first sparks of any flame being likely to catch the old buildings as tinder and wipe it off the map. He reached the outskirts of that town and climbed the steps toward his destination: the house on the hill.

The gate was almost entirely dysfunctional with its broken lock, simply serving as a small detriment, an extra step to take, before reaching the house.

Barty entered the house, the door opening with a creak-- the first sound that wintery night had bestowed upon him. 

The faint sound of hissing greeted him at the door and his heart leapt.

 

* * *

 

“Harry-”

Hands shook his shoulders and he vaguely wondered where he was and how he had fallen asleep. He opened his eyes to meet the gaze of a flustered Ron, standing in front of the Gryffindor common room’s fireplace. Harry sat up in the armchair he had fallen asleep in.

“Nnng, what--”

“Hermione says Krum found something.”

Harry rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and rose, staggering as his muscles awoke alongside his mind.

“Well?”

Ron shrugged. “I don’t know, she didn’t tell me. She said Krum wanted to tell you himself-- they’re in the library.”

“Alright, alright, I’m getting up,” Harry groaned.

Ron raised an eyebrow. “Why are you sleeping during midday anyways? You missed lunch.”

Harry put on his shoes and the duo went out of the Fat Lady’s portrait, beginning their journey towards the library.

“Tired,” sighed Harry. “I don’t know, I’ve had a lot on my mind these last few weeks.”

“Is it about...  _ you-know-who? _ ” Ron whispered under his breath.

“That’s half of it. The rest was, well… about what you saw on the map.” 

Harry supposed that was true enough. His current worries were  _ Riddle _ -related after all. 

_ I am flattered you care, Harry. _

After the night of the Yule Ball had ended, Tom had begun speaking again, if only vaguely and, in Harry’s opinion, passive-aggressively.

Did he care? It felt rude to think that he didn’t, but he didn’t want to give Tom the satisfaction of knowing he had elicited a sense of sympathy from the boy he had literally tried to murder.

What had been the purpose of that vision, that dream, in the first place? To serve as a warning? Or was it, as Harry had initially thought, meant to serve as a way to gain Harry’s trust and make him feel sorry for Tom?

_ If only the others thought as hard as you in regards to these sorts of situations. _

Harry’s train of thought halted, having momentarily forgotten Tom could hear his thoughts. Or was there a limit? Did he hear everything?

He wanted to ask, but simultaneously did not want to hear an answer.

“I still don’t know how that’s bloody possible, Harry--”

Ron’s voice cut off as the view of the library’s entrance came into sight.

They found their way to the back where Hermione and Viktor sat together, looking very… comfortable, if anyone was to ask Harry. He guessed it wasn’t his business, though.

_ How sweet that she can look past the negative stereotypes associated with Durmstrang students long enough to date one. Nauseatingly sweet, I would say. Perhaps she thinks of herself as a hero? _

‘Don’t talk about my friends like that, Riddle.’

_ And why would you interpret that as something negative, I ask? I was being purely complimentary. Maybe you should, as I have heard many of your peers say, ‘check yourself?’ This sounds like a case of self-projection to me, Harry. _

Harry glared at his shoes.

“Come sit,” Hermione uttered, motioning towards both him and Ron. They took their seats around a small table, Harry facing Hermione and Ron, Viktor.

Harry turned towards Krum. “So, what’s going on?”

He looked in between Ron and Harry and leaned in closer. “Vhat I am going to tell you is simply vhat I have seen these last veeks since I have been vatching Karkaroff.”

Hermione looked like she desperately wanted to say something, swaying her crossed legs anxiously and biting her lip.

Viktor glanced at her, but reverted his eyes back to the two in front of him. “He has been disappearing.”

“Disappearing?” Ron repeated, seemingly unimpressed.

“Gone,” Viktor clarified, raising an eyebrow. “No one knows where he goes. Three times a week, he vanishes vithout a vord, and no vone is able to contact him for hours. Not only that, but he has been avoiding speaking vith anyvone in general.” 

“Obviously, the evidence points toward him using that time to get into contact with Voldemort,” interjected Hermione. Viktor didn’t give any indication of annoyance towards being cut off.

_ Or perhaps she is only seeing what she wishes to see. _

Harry frowned. ‘What else could that mean?’

_ I am just advising you to keep an open mind, free of judgement. It would not be wise to jump to conclusions. _

“But that doesn’t tell us whether he’s working for…  _ You-know-who _ , or if he was put under the imperius,” said Ron.

Viktor opened his mouth slightly, but hesitated, looking down. “There vas something else.”

Hermione cocked her head, frowning, while Harry raised an eyebrow.

“I am not sure if it is relevant, however.”

Harry interjected, “If you think it’s important, then it might be.”

The older boy let out a sigh, hazel eyes flicking from side to side, and spoke quickly, albeit rather quietly. “I’ve searched his room, and it is completely empty.”

“...Empty?” Hermione said curiously.

“It looked normal from the doorway. If anyvone looked in, it vould appear as if somevone vas living there. But--” Krum continued. “I valked in vhen Karkaroff vas missing; after a certain threshold, the illusion disappears. I do not think he vas expecting anyvone to break into his room. But that vas another matter.”

“What do you mean by that?” questioned Ron, crossing his arms.

“It vas not a simple locking charm.” Viktor’s forehead wrinkled as he pursed his lips. “I have never seen any rune like it before. If it vasn’t for your school herself, I vould not have been able to enter.”

A rune?

_ This is why it would have been smart to take more electives, Harry. I took all of them in my time at Hogwarts. _

Harry blinked. “You’ve lost me.”

“Viktor showed me where he had seen it in Hogwarts before, and he’s right,” explained Hermione. “It’s not in any of our textbooks, but it’s on one of the tapestries in the halls.”

A tapestry with a rune…

“Was it on the seventh floor?”

_ I am quite pleasantly surprised you figured that out, Harry. _

Hermione’s eyes fluttered in surprise. 

“It vas,” Krum ascertained.

“So…” Harry thought out loud. “The only way Karkaroff could have known that rune was if he had been to Hogwarts before and found that rune… or someone taught it to him.”

“ _ Or _ someone had him under the imperius and made him create it,” Ron added, after having been silent and confused for a few minutes.

“But how did you know where we found it, Harry?” asked Hermione, tilting her head.

“I--”

_ Are you certain you should inform them of the Room so quickly? _

Harry paused, deep in thought. ‘Why wouldn’t I? They’re my friends.’

_ Ron and Hermione are your friends. This Krum fellow, you do not know. And that is not even including the fact that your supposed ‘friends’ could easily let such a useful advantage slip to another person, even accidentally.  _

‘I guess…’

_ Why not keep the Room our secret? _

“Harry?”

He looked up to find three pairs of eyes watching him.

“Ah-- sorry. Got lost in thought. I just remember that tapestry sticking out for some reason,” he said. “Maybe the rune was the reason.”

_ You need to work on your lies. _

Harry ignored Tom in favor of wondering how in the hell his life had cumulated to the point where not only was he in a tournament of life and death and in mortal peril due to a washed-up dark lord, but he now had to endure a complete and utter psychopath’s thoughts in his head almost every waking hour of the day, with no reprieve in sight.

His scar prickled and he gave an irritated sigh. 

 

* * *

 

It felt odd standing at the Hogsmeade train station when lights had been draped across the rooftops, and snow had packed itself deep into the ground, the scent of gingerbread and spice in the air. There were slightly fewer people on the Express compared to usual, allowing Harry, Hermione, and Ron their own compartment with no difficulty.

Sirius and Remus awaited him at King’s Cross station when the train arrived. The experience struck Harry as oddly surreal, as if it wasn’t truly happening. The fact that when he hopped off the train, he wouldn’t have to pile his luggage into the Dursleys’ car and squish into the backseat with Dudley, enduring the taunts and bullying until they finally arrived at number 4, Privet Drive where he would pack away all the things that made his life worth living into his bare, impersonal living quarters-- it wasn’t a room. Rooms only existed in  _ homes. _

He banished that thought. He had a home now, with a Godfather that cared for him and wanted him there. Grimmauld Place had been decorated for the holidays, and even its normally grim character couldn’t bear to not brighten in the presence of Christmas lights and wreaths. No longer was it old-fashioned or austere in its age and formality, but, in Harry’s opinion, charming, like a stern grandfather that you could fluster but not particularly anger. At least, what he would imagine a grandfather to be like. 

Sirius and Remus were exactly his parents’ age, he had to remind himself, despite their vastly differing levels of maturity.

“But Moony--”

“Sirius, haven’t I told you several times that that is simply not  _ practical _ at this very moment--”

Said man sighed dramatically. “If you cared for Harry, you would stay with us.” Harry detected the faintest hints of a pout on Sirius’ face.

Remus frowned, eyes settling sadly on Harry. “You know that is not the issue, and I wish you would not broach this subject with him in the room.”

“Well, I think Harry well has the right to hear conversations involving him, Remus,” insisted Sirius, crossing his arms. 

Harry stood awkwardly in the drawing room of Grimmauld Place, his trunk still standing upright next to the fireplace where he had placed it when they entered.

“Except it does _not_ _involve_ him. My financial issues are independent of both you and Harry, Sirius--”

“If you’d just let me help--”

_ They argue like a married couple. Although, I suppose they wouldn’t be having such a discussion if they  _ **_were_ ** _ married. _

Harry blocked out the conversation around him, focusing instead on what Tom had said. ‘Snape said the same thing, once.’

_ Please do not compare me to such a buffoon. _

Harry raised an eyebrow at the insult. ‘I would have thought you’d’ve  found some solidarity in the fact that there’s someone else out there who lives to terrorize me.’

_ You are not my student, however.  _

The younger boy hmphed, gathering his trunk and the rest of his things, then made his way towards his room. Riddle kept talking as he unpacked his clothes.

_ I wanted to be a professor once, you know. _

‘Very interesting,’ Harry thought blankly as he carefully filed through his robes.

_ Quite so. I would have been the greatest professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts that Hogwarts had ever known. From what I have seen and heard, you could have used one like me. _

‘A homicidal pureblood supremacist?’

_ Someone skilled with their magic, with real-world experience.  _

‘Well, Moody was an auror--’

_ Aurors,  _ Tom bit with distaste.  _ Self-righteous soldiers who wouldn’t even begin to think of questioning the laws that guide them. _

Harry huffed and shoved the rest of his clothes into his dresser, slamming the solid wood drawer closed with a rattle. 

_ No response? I am disappointed. _

He glared into the ornately carved mirror set above the dresser, staring deep into his own green eyes, as if trying to will the voice in his head to just  _ shut up already _ \-- Letting out a huff, he let his shoulders relax, but did not cease staring at his reflection with scrutiny. As his body moved, the metal of locket on his chest glittered in the light, refracting gold. The amber inside it churned as if it was alive and the emeralds floating in the sea of molten liquid were actually the cohesive form of a snake, winking back at Harry’s eyes, the very same shade.

Harry tilted his head up and away from the locket that laid on his chest back to his own form in front of the mirror. Surprisingly, he’d noticed a change in height from the last time he’d looked in this very same mirror the summer before, if only a slight one. It was reassuring that something about him  _ was _ changing. No longer was he the same small, overworked and underfed boy who had never looked danger in the eye.

The room was deathly quiet around him, not even Tom making a sound as Harry watched himself in the mirror-- alone.

He blinked and for a moment imagined another figure standing beside him, still taller than him, but closer to his own height than he had been before the last time he saw him. Something tugged at his heart. 

Tom’s presence in Harry’s mind was almost palpable and he could  _ feel  _ the curiosity towards his behavior, but couldn’t bring himself to say a word. He’d already told him before-- in the diary’s pages, he had confessed what he had seen in his first year to the older teenager. And he remembered how  _ that  _ had turned out-- nearly resulting in his death. Despite that, why did he still feel so conflicted?

_ Not everything is black and white. _

Harry let out a sigh.

A part of him wished that it was.

Something flickered in the corner of his eye, and his eyes averted from his own image before him, heart thumping.  _ Something  _ had moved.

_ Careful, Harry, paranoia leads men to do most horrible things. From the instances I have seen, that would include turning students into ferrets and withholding useful information from young men who so desperately should have known of it. Not to mention ruining young boys’ early education-- _

“Shut up--” Harry demanded aloud, slamming both of his hands against the dresser.

The sound of someone exhaling through their nose in contempt echoed back to him. 

Harry jumped and glanced at the door to his left, expecting it to be open and for someone to be standing in the doorway, but blinked in surprise when he noticed no one was there.

Was he just hearing things? It couldn’t have been Riddle. 

He tore his eyes away from the still-closed door and turned towards the mirror once more, but stilled in shock, his breath catching in his throat at the sudden image that appeared before him.

Beside the mirror, the formerly empty landscape painting-- no, it wasn’t a painting-- demonstrated its true purpose-- that of a portrait. Dark brown eyes stared back at Harry.

He did the only thing he could think to do-- that is, he didn’t think whatsoever, so there was only one thing he  _ could  _ do-- gape like a fish.

The figure simply blinked tiredly at him. 

What struck Harry as odd was how utterly familiar the subject of the portrait was. Dark eyes, dark hair, pale, perfect skin--

The image of Tom Riddle instantly came to mind, but he dismissed it without a second thought. He had been classically handsome while the young man in front of him, while by no means unattractive, was more than exceedingly plain-- his eyes simply seemed to lack any sort of spirit, any flame, any drive. His hair was pin-straight, lacking the elegant wave of Tom’s, face lacking the overwhelming sense that he knew more than he was letting on--

_ Please think with your head, Harry-- your brain. _

The younger boy’s face flushed pink and he frowned.

The person in front of him hadn’t said a single word as Harry had been analyzing his face, searching for any signs of recognition. 

He looked like Sirius, he realised. Less handsome, perhaps, but they had the same facial features, the same dark hair and pallid skin-tone. ‘What was his brother’s name?’

_ I do not believe I was with you when you discovered this information. _

Harry paused. Something about that statement didn’t sit well with him. Hadn’t he discovered the diary in his second year? The voice had admitted to being Riddle… Come to think of it, he couldn’t remember  _ when  _ he had first started hearing the voice in his head.

The thought deeply unsettled him. Had he been unaware of Riddle’s influence over his mind for so long? The change had been gradual, after all, with him only realising the change when Riddle had deeply embedded his presence in both Harry’s subconscious and conscious mind.

“Regulus?” The name was drawn from his lips without another thought and the action surprised him.

The young man in front of him raised his eyebrows haughtily, tilting his chin upwards. He paused for a few moments before speaking. “And who would you be?”

Harry furrowed his brow and frowned. “Harry Potter.”

“Well, Harry Potter,” he drawled. “You happen to be staying in my room. If you are not already aware.”

“I know,” said Harry curtly. He pursed his lips.

Regulus simply looked back at him with narrowed eyes, contemplative.

“How is my brother?”

Harry blinked in surprise. “What?”

“Sirius,” Regulus clarified, sighing, almost as if he was...bored? “Is he still alive?”

“You haven’t been watching?” Harry questioned.

“Not closely. I have not had the opportunity to.” He frowned.

_ I wouldn’t buy that excuse for a second. _

Harry ignored Tom’s comment. “Sirius is alright,” he began slowly. “Do you not know everything that happened? When did you die, exactly?”

_ That _ seemed to shut the younger Black up right away. He huffed and turned in his portrait, crossing his arms and apparently refusing to look in Harry’s direction.

Harry stood there awkwardly for a few moments, just staring at the sullen, sulking form of Regulus.

_ What a child. He is worse than that one friend of yours. _

Realising that Harry wasn’t going to move, Regulus appeared to take a step and disappeared out of the viewpoint of the frame of his painting.

‘He’s gone now, I guess.’

_ You scared him away with your probing questions, most likely. Next time, it may not be best to open a conversation with the discussion of one’s death. I hear it can be a touchy subject. _

‘Speaking of death, why don’t you just go die already?’

Harry could feel the complete and utter irritation dwelling within him at that very moment, and some odd feeling told him that it could not entirely be his own. While Tom was annoying, he wasn’t  _ entirely _ enraged by his behavior at that current moment, at least, compared to his past behavior.

The line between his own emotions and Tom’s was becoming far too thin for his liking, he decided. But how could he sever this damn connection--

_ I am afraid that is well impossible, my dear Harry. You are, most unabashedly, ‘stuck’ with me. _

Smugness flooded through his chest and Harry felt like throwing up. Or, at the very least, hitting something. He did what any mature fourteen-year-old boy would do in that situation. He pouted.

_ Careful. As the matron always said, your face may get stuck like that. Unless you are me, of course, and are simply blessed with a perfect facial structure that will be upheld despite any negative circumstances-- _

Harry reached purposefully into his trunk, now empty of all his clothes and books.

_ It is both a gift and curse, I am afraid. Not many would be able to endure what I have been through, as I have shown you. _

The younger boy cringed at the memory resurfacing in his mind. Despite his complete and utter sense of hatred toward the injustice that occurred, he still opened that one hidden compartment in his trunk that held the object he was searching for.

_ What are you doing? _

He took the diary and threw it against the door, rattling the doorknob and making the wood vibrate with the force of the impact.

There was a pause, before a knock sounded against the door.

“Come in,” Harry sighed.

The door opened slowly, revealing the grinning face of Sirius and a somewhat resigned, yet still bemused Remus. 

Harry could already tell the outcome of their argument.

“Harry! Remus is staying with us this holiday--”

_ As I said before, like a married couple. _

 

* * *

 

Dinner that night was entertaining, to say the very least. Sirius’ exuberance was contagious and Harry’s anger quelled down to a point where he could forget about it while eating with his Godfather and his… well, he didn’t quite have a word for Remus yet, and calling him his parents’  _ friend _ seemed to downplay their relationship.

“I have everything planned, and I can guarantee the both of you, this will be the best Christmas any of us have ever had--”

Harry didn’t have the heart to rain on Sirius’ parade and tell him that was probably a low standard to begin with.

Despite them both being the same age, Harry decided, Sirius and Remus were more like an eager-to-please, bachelor uncle and a gentle yet cautious grandfather, respectively. 

“Have you seen the  _ Daily Prophet _ yet, Harry?” asked Remus from across the table.

“Of course he hasn’t, he’s been hiding up in his room because you were being stubborn--” Sirius laughed.

Remus smiled awkwardly and handed the newspaper to Harry.

“You got Crouch into office, it looks like,” grimaced Sirius.

Remus shook his head at him. “Apparently his first move is creature rights?” He raised an eyebrow. “Your doing, I presume?”

Harry looked down at the headline.

‘BARTEMIUS CROUCH BOOTS FUDGE- WHAT DOES THE FUTURE FORETELL?’

He skimmed across the paragraphs, catching bits like ‘coming down hard on dark magic practitioners’, and ‘creature’s rights.’ All quite dull, but he was glad that Crouch was at least holding up his end of the bargain. 

_ I find it quite ironic that while he vilifies dark magic, he is supporting creatures formerly heralded as ‘dark’. Funny how men will drop labels as it suits them. Crouch must truly want your favor. _

Harry had only vaguely mentioned his proposition in his first letter to Crouch, who, initially, had only suggested giving Harry a place as his undersecretary. As creature’s rights hadn’t come up during their oath at The Three Broomsticks, he had assumed it a lost cause. To discover Crouch had remembered was a pleasant surprise.

He turned the page to look over the other headlines when his own name drew his attention.

‘THE BOY WHO LIVED LEARNS TO FLY? HOW HE DEFEATED THE DEADLIEST DRAGON OF THEM ALL--’

He didn’t have to read the entire article to be able to tell it was utter bollocks. Harry set the newspaper off to the side and went back to his dinner. 

_ Have you ever considered that perhaps your Minister friend’s compliance is just a ruse? _

He stabbed his fork into his mashed potatoes, ignoring Riddle.

_ Perhaps, just maybe, Crouch has gained more out of this deal than you have. _

‘I get a stable job after graduating with little effort on my part. Crouch becoming minister isn’t a terrible thing, in my opinion, especially compared to Fudge. What else would I ask for?’

_ You set your goals too low. You should be aiming higher. _

‘Oh, like how high? Murdering an entire group of people high?’

_ You are being entirely unreasonable. I had ambitions beyond genocide-- I am not that simple. _

‘Oh, can’t forget wanting to be a professor to torture poor innocent kids. Silly me.’

_ When you are willing to listen and not have your biases be the noise buzzing in your ears preventing you from hearing anything different, I shall be waiting. _

Harry decided to finish his dinner and return to his room as quickly as possible. 

 

* * *

 

Christmas arrived in a few days and never had Harry ever such a happy holiday away from Hogwarts. Truly, he was grateful for the fact that not only did he have friends that cared for him, but actual family now. The traditions of decorating a Christmas tree, baking holiday cookies, sitting by the fire and wondering what he would be receiving that year and how his loved ones would react when they received their own gifts from him had taken on a new, ebullient light.

It made him guilty to possibly think that something was just…  _ missing _ .

Maybe it was just the stress of recent events catching up with him. Life had slowed down temporarily. It was a holiday after all- he had no schoolwork, and the next task, while still something to worry about, was far enough away and far enough removed from him at the present moment to not be of much worry. It was Krum’s job to figure out the clue, after all. He didn’t have his own clue anymore. What more could he do?

Despite all this, something still felt  _ wrong _ . 

He had smiled and graciously received everything he was given that Christmas morning and now currently laid on his back on his bed, contemplating the odd feeling in his chest. 

Riddle was surprisingly quiet, as he had been all day. 

Harry let out a deep sigh, reaching one arm and folding it behind his head to rest on it. His other hand trailed along the chain of the locket he had found himself wearing almost compulsively since he had found it last summer. It was something permanent, he found, but still flexible enough to follow him wherever he went. Like a second skin, he felt naked at the mere thought of taking it off. Odd, but reassuring, the fact that it would always be there.

He looked down at his chest to find the main pendant of the locket lying against his shirt. Reaching down, he picked it up and held it up to the light. The emeralds glinted.

The strange feeling of something--  _ someone-- _ watching him crept over Harry like spiders crawling over his body, the feeling light and subtle at first but digressing into something completely unnerving and uncomfortable. He squirmed and looked up to find dark eyes staring down at him.

Those eyes, completely separated from the body that they belonged to, would instantly remind him of Tom Riddle, and his heart leaped temporarily until his better judgment kicked in.

But alas, either luckily or unluckily, it was not  _ him _ .

“Regulus?”

Said man humphed, simply carrying on watching and frowning at Harry, who found himself frowning back on reflex. Regulus raised an eyebrow, but remained silent.

This exchange went on for almost a minute before the silence started to make Harry uncomfortable. 

Thinking back to what Riddle had said before, he began speaking warily. “I… apologize for automatically bringing up your death. It might not have been the most tactful thing to do. I was simply curious.”

“As the saying goes, curiosity killed the cat.”

“But satisfaction brought it back,” Harry retorted automatically, before covering his mouth.

Regulus sighed dramatically in a fashion that reminded Harry so much of Sirius, it was unnerving. The only difference was that Regulus seemed to be more genuine, while Sirius had always done such action in a joking way. “Not always.”

Well, that was cryptic.

“I’m guessing you’ve learned that from experience?” Harry pushed.

Regulus narrowed his eyes. “Yes.” He pursed his lips. 

Harry might have been intimidated if Regulus hadn’t been so much…  _ younger _ and  _ smaller _ than he had first anticipated when Sirius had mentioned he had had a brother. Rather, he was more  _ irritated  _ at the curtness of his responses than anything else.

With an aggravated sigh, he began once more. “Is that all you’re going to say?”

“Pray tell,” Regulus drawled, “What do you expect me to say?” 

Harry gaped and couldn’t get his thoughts out of his mouth for a moment. “Aren’t you curious at all about what’s happened since you died? I mean, no one’s been in the house for how many years?”

Regulus frowned. “You’ll find it is quite difficult to keep track of the hours once you have died,” he bit out. “I could spend all my time watching clocks, but that is a boredom even I would not inflict upon myself. In regards to curiosity… I will repeat what I said before. I do not have nine lives.”

“Well, it’s a good thing you’re already dead then, isn’t it?” Harry said, irritated.

The corners of Regulus’ lips twitched. His dark eyes, almost black in the dim lighting of the room, seemed, for a moment, bright. “I suppose, then, there is no harm in you telling me what my dreadful brother has been up to?” His last few words had an upward lilt, cautious yet probing.

 

* * *

 

“Ironic that the first of us to go to Azkaban would be Sirius. Mother would have been both ashamed and pleased equally.”

“Well, you can’t really go to Azkaban when you’re dead, now, can you?” Harry snickered.

Regulus rolled his eyes. “Tell that to the dementors.”

The grin on Harry’s face fell slowly. The reminder of what had  _ almost _ happened not even a year ago was still fresh in his mind. 

“Did your mother really hate Sirius that much?”

“Yes,” said Regulus curtly. His face had reverted back to its emotionless state. “Unless you assumed those screams from her portrait were from sheer excitement in seeing the very son she disowned?”

Harry cringed outwardly. 

“That’s what I thought.”

“Did you hate him?” 

For the first time since Harry had spoken to him, Regulus seemed surprised. His dark lashes blinked several times, his eyes widening, before he looked off into the distance past Harry as if looking for something.

“You took down my clippings.”

“Huh?”

Regulus turned back to Harry and looked him up and down curiously. His eyes fell on the locket and a wrinkle formed on his forehead from how hard he furrowed his brow.

“Potter’s kid, yes?”

Harry blinked, even more confused than he had been before. “James Potter, yeah, but--”

Regulus humphed haughtily, cutting Harry off. “Well,” he began. “To answer your question. I did not  _ hate _ my brother--”

Well, that was reassuring--

“I  _ loathed _ him.”

Regulus turned in his portrait with exaggerated posturing before stomping out of the view of the frame.

 

* * *

 

For the rest of winter holiday, Harry did not catch a single glimpse of Regulus. Some part of him knew that he must have done  _ something _ to aggravate the older boy, but given his attitude, he didn’t have much mind to make reparations. 

He was a _ death eater _ , after all. Harry had a flashback to the shrine of newspaper articles regarding Lord Voldemort he and Ginny had cleared out of his room and shivered.

_ Surprised Lord Voldemort had as much of a fanclub as you do, Harry? _

On top of that, a certain  _ pest _ had returned as soon as Christmas cheers were over. Harry didn’t know whether to be grateful for the break or even more disappointed having experienced sweet, sweet solitude only to have his unwelcome guest return to his mind like a cockroach burrowing its way into an otherwise pleasant meal.

_ It’s my birthday soon, you know. _

‘I didn’t know. What do you want? World-domination? Muggle genocide?’

Harry could feel the smarmy smugness so very  _ Riddle _ curl inside him. If Riddle had a physical form instead of merely a mental presence in Harry’s head, he would’ve punched him, he decided. Punched him and ran away, very quickly.

While Riddle went quiet, his emotions lingered within Harry.

For some reason, heat rose to his cheeks. ‘What? No sly comeback or talking down to me?’

_ Not at all. It’s the thought that counts, after all. December 31st. _

The death of the previous year, but not quite the beginning of the new.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Maurey @mau-demort for both betaing, finding my quotation for this chapter, and translating it to English <3 You're the best.
> 
> Check me out on tumblr @thelastnero. I also have a ko-fi on the desktop version, if anyone is interested in giving me a tip for my work~
> 
> Nanowrimo is... going. I'm a bit behind, but I can still catch up :D


	15. Possession is 9/10 of the Law

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! It's been a while~ Nano was a bit of a fail (I wrote ~25k; half) and I've been a bit busy due to real life, but here I am with another chapter! Feel free to hate me as much as you like for what lies within. ;c

“It is easier to forgive an enemy than to forgive a friend.” 

― William Blake

 

The Hogwarts Express returned the first week of January and the light, fluffy lull of the winter holiday chilled to the hard packed snow of classwork, schoolyard politics, and the ever looming threat of the second task.

“Viktor’s working on it, Harry,” said Hermione sympathetically, looking up from her notes. She sat in an armchair with slouch nonexistent, alert. “He’s promised he’ll owl you when he finds something.”

Harry sighed. “I guess there isn’t much use in worrying about it when I can’t do anything at the moment. We have a little less than two months. What's the worst that could go wrong?” He smiled awkwardly at Hermione and Ron across the floor of the Gryffindor Common Room. They tried to meet his expression, but it was quite obviously forced.

_ The worst you can do is walk in without any indication of the task you were assigned. Most likely, this event requires preparation. You would be at a significant disadvantage without your clue. _

‘I realise this.’

_ You are far too trusting, in my opinion. How do you know Krum did not purposefully sabotage you and that he is not simply planning on never giving you the information you need? _

Harry glanced over at Hermione who had begun working on some of the homework that their professors had already been cruel enough to assign.

‘I doubt he would do that to her.’

_ He could be dating her to get at you. _

‘I’ve barely talked to him, chill out. Maybe you should stop being so distrustful.’

_ Maybe you shouldn’t be so trusting. _

Harry sighed in annoyance, drawing the glance of Ron who had been playing chess by himself. 

‘Why are you in my head in the first place?’

_ That is an interesting question that I myself do not know the answer to yet. _

‘I doubt that.’

_ Harry, Harry, Harry-- throwing your doubt in the wrong direction time and time again. Have I ever been anything but helpful to you? _

‘Yes. Multiple times.’

_ Details. _

Harry slid his fingers down the chain of the locket, swinging the pendent back and forth in a predictable, timed fashion. Its weight was reassuring.  _ ‘Does it have to do with the mirror?’ _

_ The mirror? _

Harry frowned. ‘The Mirror of Erised?’

_ I--  _ Tom hesitated, and Harry could feel the confusion, the discomfort, the panic within him and in turn, it inspired such feelings within himself.

What was going on?

_ I am afraid I have forgotten.  _

Harry’s heart turned in his chest, contorting in a way that throbbed and made it slightly more difficult to breath. Why did that hurt?... And why did something feel off?

‘How could you… forget? It was pretty unforgettable to me.’

_ Perhaps you could explain it to me again?  _

Harry swallowed something heavy down his throat, frowning. He turned to look back at his housemates in the common room, before looking back down at his own hands, clenched in his lap. He rose and returned to his dorm. 

Laying back on his back on his bed, he let out a heavy sigh.

_ Harry?  _ The voice was soft, gentle, and quiet enough that Harry vaguely wondered if it was possible he wasn’t simply imagining it and that Tom was actually beside him. It sounded so real-- but at this point, what  _ was _ real?

‘The Mirror of Erised shows one’s heart’s desire. Erised-- desire backwards, as the mirror reflects an image reversed.’

Riddle remained silent, much to Harry’s chagrin and anxiety.

‘I found it in my first year here at Hogwarts.’

He wasn’t sure if the emotions he was feeling belonged to him, or if they belonged to Tom. It was becoming harder and harder to tell as the days passed.

‘I saw you in it. I told you my second year when you possessed Ginny and tried to have the basilisk kill all the Muggleborns.’

_ I see. I think I am remembering now.  _

But he wasn’t-- both he and Harry  _ knew _ that, he could feel it. There was no spark of realisation, no sudden feeling of comfort and understanding. Apprehension fell in waves upon him and left a bitter taste in his mouth as he drowned in the negative feeling.

He clenched his teeth. ‘So? What do you think? Is this why I’m cursed with your presence inside my head for who knows how long?’

_ I wish I knew, Harry. Any power I may have had, I do not have now, or else I would do something. _

Harry hmphed. ‘I’m sure you would.’

_ Is doing  _ **_something_ ** _ so bad? What you rather I do? Sit around and let my talents go to waste, similar to you? _

Words attempted to spill out of his mouth, but he halted them before they could reach the open air. Or rather, he chose to halt his negative  _ thoughts _ on the matter.

‘I don’t have any answer to that.’

Frustration. Tumult.

_ I suppose that is better than other things I have heard. _

Resignation. It made his heart ache, despite his better judgement.

The sound of a hand knocking on the wood door sounded, causing Harry to pick himself up off his bed. 

“Hey mate-- you coming to dinner?” Ron’s voice called as the door to their dorm opened.

Harry straightened his robes and followed his friend to the Great Hall without any further words. Ron didn’t question the silence. Perhaps it was the expression on his face or simply an aura projected due to hs mood that communicated his inner conflict. 

 

* * *

 

While most owls came during lunchtime, or even during the morning, a few outliers arrived at dinnertime, often promising packages that would cause their carriers to fly slower in the day.

It was a small Hogwarts owl and a small envelope encasing a small letter, written in cramped, pointed handwriting dictating its message when it arrived at Harry’s place at the Gryffindor table. No one looked twice besides his two friends who exchanged knowing, curious glances as they looked over his shoulder as he read.

_ Harry, _

_ Meet me at the Astronomy Tower at 24:00. I have information regarding the promise that I made to you months previously. _

_ K. _

“Well, that was short,” remarked Ron, before he turned back to his dinner.

Hermione shushed him. “He probably had to keep it vague on purpose. What if someone intercepted the owl?”

_ They would wonder why the Durmstrang champion was assisting one of the Hogwarts champions. _

Harry sighed, realising it was probably pointless to try to ask Tom to shut up.

_ It is. Do you not enjoy my advice?  _

‘No.’

 

* * *

 

At ten minutes to midnight, Harry grabbed his invisibility cloak and snuck out of his dorm, through the Fat Lady’s sleeping portrait, and toward the Astronomy tower. The halls were silent as he made his journey, the moonlight and the sound of his footsteps padding against the stone floor his only companions. With the aid of the Marauder's Map, he could easily steer clear of any and all possible obstacles in the form of people.

It was colder than he had expected, and he found himself wishing he had put on his socks before stumbling out into the halls. It was too late now, however. Standing at the base of the Astronomy tower, moonlight bathed his body, a shadow falling beyond his cloaked form.

He began climbing the dozens of steps, the stone austere and trapping all of the cold that leaked in from the grounds. Luckily, it was not snowing. Harry was certain his toes would have fallen off if it had been.

A shiver ran down his spine, not from the cold but from an uneasy feeling that settled over him. Was it anticipation, worry, or something different?

_ Someone is near. _

Harry almost dismissed Tom, having been irritated all day from their earlier conversation, perhaps in a method of self-defense, but decided to simply check the Marauder’s Map to espouse any doubts.

With the whisper of the words decided upon by the Marauder’s themselves, the map unfurled and revealed its secrets.

_ Harry Potter. Tom Riddle. _

Deja vu took hold of Harry, the conditioned apprehension at the sight of Riddle’s name in written form stirring worry in his chest at the fact that he  _ still _ didn’t understand why Riddle’s name appeared on the Marauder’s Map, much less on  _ his _ person. 

No other names appeared in the area, either, to Harry’s discontent.

‘Where is he?’ Harry frowned. 

_ Not here, apparently. _

Harry turned his head, looking behind him at the steps below, before quickly climbing the remaining steps to the top of the tower. 

It was freezing and no one stood at the top of the steps. 

Deep in thought, he pulled out his wand. Dare he risk it?

Holding the stick of holly far away from his body, he recited a simple word as quietly as he could manage without butchering its pronunciation.

_ “Tempus, _ ” Harry whispered. Sparks flew out of the tip of his wand and he cringed away from them. Luckily, the embers landed on the floor of the tower, far away from his body or anything that had the chance of catching fire. Hopefully some snow would fall in through the tower bars to extinguish the sparks-- he couldn’t very well stomp them out with his bare feet.

The time revealed itself to him as ten minutes past midnight. ‘Krum  _ could _ just be late,’ he thought.

_ That is one of several possibilities, yes. _

Tom didn’t have to voice the other possibilities for Harry to catch his train of thought. Krum could not show up at all. But _ why?  _

Looking down at the grounds of Hogwarts, he felt uneasy. That would be an awful long fall-- unsurvivable, at this time of night, with no one awake to see one and catch them before they fell.

It would be so easy just to jump off. 

Harry blinked and felt his body willed down the few stairs leading down from the top of the tower. Not only was it warmer, if only slightly, but he didn’t have to worry that, perhaps, it was a bit too icy to be safe, and that there could be a chance of slipping--

He sat on one step, curling around his legs to prevent more heat from escaping. ‘Twenty more minutes’, he thought. ‘Maybe Krum got caught up with something.’

Twenty more minutes he waited under his invisibility cloak, before finding himself nodding off into the embrace of the cold January night.

 

* * *

 

“Potter--”

It was cold.

“Wake up--”

He wanted to just sleep.

A boot nudged his side, not at all gently, but far from a kick. Harry opened his eyes to discover his cheek resting against a piece of unfolded parchment, his body pressed against the hard stone of what looked to be a stair. A sudden convulsion of shivers wracked his body.

He blinked away a wetness in his eyes, the cold stinging his gaze. The Marauder’s Map lied open and spread out on the floor below him.

Three dots stood near the top steps of the Astronomy Tower.

_ Harry Potter. Tom Riddle. Alastor Moody. _

His hand twitched toward the map, his other hand fumbling for his wand. As he reached through his robes, he found his movements heavier than usual. The cloak was still covering his body. The panic that had flooded his blood seconds before dissipated.

The relief was only momentary, to be replaced by confusion. Moody had been the one to wake him up, the one to call his name despite his assured invisibility.

Glancing up, he caught sight of his waker that morning, who stared down with his glass eye. He wasn’t staring at Harry, however.

The map was the current object of his attention.

‘Oh no--’

_ Stay calm. Do not act like anything is amiss. _

_ ‘What?’  _ Harry tried to frown but found the muscles in his face work against him, preventing him from doing so.

_ Sit up, take off your cloak, and fold up the map. Act half-asleep. _

Of his own volition, he felt himself rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. The force wasn’t overwhelming, but he still felt as though  _ something _ was prodding him into such action.

_ Trust me. _

Tom was doing  _ something _ , but Harry still felt as though he could stop it, if he so desired. Apprehensively, he let himself be guided.

‘Fine.’

He sat up off the floor slowly, feeling his muscles crack and creak from their awkward sleeping position, before picking up the map, folding it, and placing it in the pocket of his robe. With a smooth, practiced motion, he slipped off the cloak.

“Professor?” he asked groggily.

Moody frowned at him, his real eye narrowed and his fake eye as wide as ever. “Mr. Potter--” he said abruptly. “What are you doing out here at this hour?”

‘Sleeping.’

_ Silence. _

His face scrunched up in confusion. “I-- I don’t know. What time is it?” The words fell out of his mouth stilted, but natural-- but in no way were they his own. 

He could barely think, in such a stupor, that if Riddle hadn’t been doing… whatever it was he was doing, he would have no doubt been gaping or worse-- started speaking himself.

“It is 4am-- You’re lucky that according to the rules, it’s morning now--” His eyes flicked across Harry who squirmed under his magical eye. The electric blue blazed bright and probing, moving independent of Moody’s other eye.  “But if you ask me, nothing good happens after midnight and before the sun rises. Too much that can be done under the cover of darkness, let alone your father’s invisibility cloak--” 

“I’m sorry sir, but I don’t even remember coming here.” Harry frowned, confusion in his wide-eyes. 

“Hmph.” Harry felt the urge to cringe under Moody’s calculating stare, but the same force that had gotten him up off the floor, spoken in his mind, and fed his last words into his mouth held his body fast and still.

Moody seemed to have either found what he was looking for or had simply given up as he took a step back and gave Harry another once-over, eyes lingering near Harry’s pockets where the boy held his hands. 

His fingers clenched around the form of the Marauder’s Map, feeling the magic inside it thrum under his fingertips. He could almost sense the movement of the dots travelling across its scribed halls and walls. Mischief  _ unmanaged _ .

“Don’t let me catch you like this again.” There was an unstated warning--  _ or else _ .

Harry blinked and nodded. “Of course, Professor.”

Moody took a step up one of the stairs, leaning against the central tower wall as he held out his walking stick and motioned Harry down the stairs.

His bare feet padded against the stone as he made his way down the Astronomy Tower, toes numb, although his bodily heat and control slowly returned to him as well.

 

* * *

 

Harry had returned to his dorm and fell straight back into the warmth of his bed, the heat of the fireplace flames comforting and well-suited to healing his nearly frostbitten skin. 

Upon waking up, he discovered the dorm empty. Given that it was the weekend, he expected to find the rest of the Gryffindor boys in the common room or off doing something. All he knew was that he wanted to stay inside and out of the cold for the next couple days.

When he met Hermione and Ron’s gazes, they instantly rushed over with question upon question of what had happened the previous night, what he had learned, and how it would be helpful.

They were as disappointed as he to discover that Krum hadn’t shown up.

“I had just spoken with him the other day,” asserted Hermione, frowning. “He told me he was onto something, but had to make sure before he showed you.

“He isn’t backing out now, is he?” Ron offered.

Hermione gaped. “Of course he wouldn’t!” She folded her arms across her chest.

“I’m just saying-- I mean, he wants to win the tournament too. Why would he want to help Harry?” he asked rhetorically. “For all we know, he could be working with Karkaroff still.”

_ I can’t believe I am saying this, but the Weasley is being logical for once. At least, I agree with him more than the mudblood-- _

Harry didn’t have time to feel annoyed at the derogatory epithet, trying to keep up with the fast-paced banter taking place before him.

“He gave us that information-- Karkaroff is receiving information from Voldemort--” 

“But what does that actually help us, Hermione? What does that prove?” Ron raised an eyebrow. “We can’t just walk up to Crouch’s office in the ministry and use that as proof You-Know-Who is back. They wouldn’t be able to do anything with that.”

“I think you both need to calm down,” said Harry, looking over both of his shoulders. “Or at least, quiet down. Someone could walk in at any moment.”

Hermione sighed and unfolded her arms, holding her hands in front of her. Harry placed a hand on her shoulder. 

“Maybe something… happened?”

She blinked away what looked like the beginning of tears and straightened her back. “That’s what I was thinking. Viktor has kept all of his promises up until now-- I can’t believe he would just--” She sighed and shook her head.

“I mean, we can’t ignore the possibility that he did do just that,” Harry conceded. “But we’d do ourselves a disservice jumping to conclusions.”

_ A mature observation-- so you  _ **_are_ ** _ listening to me. _

If Harry had been alone, he would have sighed in exasperation. He mentally rolled his eyes at Tom.

_ I’m quite proud of how quickly you are learning, Harry-- or should I say, my protege. _

Harry’s face flushed. 

_ I do need someone to carry on my work, beside me. I cannot very well work with only this consciousness, after all. _

The sound of Ron speaking broke him out of his thoughts. Despite this, the blush remained. “You might be right. I mean, imagine if  _ Karkaroff _ found out Krum was helping you...”

Hermione’s eyes widened. “I don’t even want to think of that.”

Harry turned to Hermione. “When was the next time you were going to talk to him?”

She hesitated before speaking. “We don’t normally plan it-- he usually just meets me in the library and we go wherever we want from there.”

Ron and Harry exchanged a confused glance.

Hermione frowned. “Sometimes, we send notes to each other-- but we really don’t need to. We both have predictable schedules outside of our classes. If you haven’t noticed, Viktor isn’t the most outgoing and isn’t as pigheaded as most other boys. He actually  _ likes _ to stay in and--”

“Let me guess,” Ron chuckled. “Read and study?”

The brunette’s cheeks flushed a vivid pink before she huffed and crossed her arms once more. “You’re never going to get a girlfriend at this rate, Ronald.”

He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Girls-- honestly, they all sound like too much trouble.”

Harry snorted.

_ It worries me whenever I agree with either of your friends. It makes me question the long-term effects of cohabitating a young, teenage boy’s mind. _

‘You can leave whenever you want, Riddle.’

_ Alas, I cannot. But for whatever reason would I wish to leave you, Harry? _

Said boy pursed his lips and looked back at Ron and Hermione who were still debating. The discussion had veered so off-topic, he didn’t know what they were talking about. 

Instead of joining them, he decided to nestle into the sofa in front of the fireplace, clutching a pillow as he gazed into the flames.

‘What was it that you did earlier?’

_ I was preventing you from putting your foot in your mouth and placing unnecessary suspicion on yourself. _

‘Moody didn’t seem convinced.’

_ And he will never be convinced one-hundred per cent of any single person’s innocence, I expect. If you had panicked, however, he may have assumed you were up to something more than you were. As it is now, I expect he simply thinks you are a liability in the form of a sleep-walker.  _

Harry felt Tom hesitate, before continuing his thoughts.

_ I am more worried about your map. Dumbledore, Snape, and your friends are the only ones who know of it, yes? _

‘Yeah-- unless Dumbledore told the professors.’ Harry frowned. ‘But I don’t think he would do that.’

_ Perhaps not yet.  _

A strange thought struck Harry. ‘You didn’t know Moody at any time in your life, did you?’

Apprehension-- as if Tom was thinking about his words very carefully. It gave Harry pause-- if Tom consciously chose what thoughts he implanted in Harry’s mind, then maybe it was the same way for him--

_ He may have heard  _ **_of_ ** _ me. _

‘But no one else knew you were behind the chamber?’

_ The chamber was not all I got up to in my school days, dear Harry. But I would prefer not to stain your image of me, and I’m sure you would prefer to keep your own image of me equally as clean-- _

‘That’s bollocks and you know it, Tom.’ Harry shook his head, before stopping himself, realising he was still in public. A glance over at Hermione and Ron indicated they hadn’t been paying attention to him. ‘My image of you is already ruined.’

_ And here I thought we were becoming so close,  _ Tom purred.

Harry’s fingers fisted the edge of the pillow in his lap. The fire in front of him crackled.

‘How did you do what you did earlier?’ The memory of Ginny, laying against the floor of the chamber flashed through his head. 

_ I had a theory, and that situation provided an optimal way of testing it. It appears I have been… for lack of better words, feeling your emotions, and I assumed, in turn, you were feeling mine. This is correct? _

‘Yeah.’

_ With that hypothesis, I wanted to test its limits. If I wanted you to do something so badly, could I make you do it out of the sheer force of my will’s presence in your mind? Could I  _ **_make_ ** _ you feel tired and move your arms and your lips in any way I so desired, if i focused hard enough? _

Something strange came over Harry at the sound of that voice uttering in his mind-- it felt so real, he could almost  _ hear _ it. There was unease, a slight fear, but something else that got his blood pumping in his veins. 

A desperate urge to assert himself in spite of these feelings incited. ‘You can’t. I could push back against you. I felt it. You couldn’t--’ He bit his lip-- ‘Force me.’

_ Interesting. So you retained your own will? _

‘Of course I did--’ Harry frowned, face burning, and clutching the pillow against his lap even harder. 

_ There is no need to be so...  _ **_excitable_ ** _ ,  _ Tom’s voice drawled. _  I asked your permission before I did anything, didn’t I? _

But would he  _ always _ ask?

The diary had been able to possess Ginny after months of her talking to it, pouring her inky insecurities into its pages for Riddle to collect.

Except… this was different, wasn’t it? Or so Harry had thought. He still retained his sense of control-- Riddle’s will was more like a suggestion, a light push in the direction that he wished, not an overwhelming override of his mental and physical being. He had remembered every moment of it-- he had been completely conscious. Ginny had blacked out to awaken in dark hallways, only the blood on her hands left behind to indicate what she may have done the night previous.

It was worrisome, but… Harry supposed he was safe. Besides, if Riddle had had the chance to completely possess him, wouldn’t he have done it already, with how long it had been? 

A second thought occurred to him, the same devil on his shoulder that had questioned Riddle’s forgetfulness of the one object that had linked their destinies from the very beginning-- the Mirror.

He vaguely wondered if Riddle remembered the incident with Ginny at all-- he couldn’t possibly explain that away. But what were the chances of that?

A part of Harry completely and utterly dreaded the response to that question, both answers being, in their own way, indicative of something more sinister in the works.

Either he remembered... or he  _ didn’t _ remember.

He either remembered the process of having possessed Ginny… or  _ something _ made him forget-- presumably the same thing that made him forget their conversation in the diary about the Mirror of Erised.

_ Harry?  _ His voice almost sounded concerned.

‘Tom--’

_ I will never do it again, unless you decide you need my council and ask me to. Of that, I promise you. _

Harry swallowed a heavy feeling down his throat. He glanced around the common room, still sitting in his nestle of blankets on the couch, all alone now. When the others had left, he hadn’t been aware.

_ Do I make you uncomfortable? _

‘No--’ Harry thought quickly, without a second for further contemplation. ‘It’s just-- your past behavior makes it hard to trust anything you say.’

_ I don’t know if this means much to you, but killing mudbloods doesn’t matter to me anymore. _

Then what does matter to you?

Harry wanted to ask, but found the question added to the pile of mysteries he didn’t have the courage to face. He doubted a deus ex machina in the form of a phoenix would swoop down to aid him in pursuits such as these, either.

One step at a time, he thought. He would start with the most pressing of matters first. Tactfully, this time.

‘You can understand why I would have difficulty believing that, given the lengths to which you’ve already gone and how they relate to what just happened last night.’

Tom was thinking very hard, Harry could sense. 

_ I apologize. I did not mean to cause anyone harm, but things got out of hand. _

Harry blinked and a handful of insults nearly spilled out of his mouth, until he realised he almost let his anger control his words. ‘That is an understatement, and it still does not address the fact that you nearly…  _ possessed _ me.’

_ I don’t think I have the capability to do that to anyone, Harry. You told me yourself you could push back against my suggestions. _

He couldn’t possess anyone, could he? The answer was so close and Harry knew what it had to be, but… the possibility that it couldn’t be was too great. He had to ask.

But what if he  _ didn’t _ remember? Harry’s heart thrummed in his chest and he swallowed a lump down his throat.

‘Then what did you do to Ginny?’

A skip of a heartbeat.  _ Pardon? _

_ ‘What-- _ did you do to Ginny?’

His mind buzzed, frantic, pacing from one thought to the next as if searching through the shelves of stored memories and thoughts, his consciousness the vehicle of an imaginary person.

Tom did not find anything. He knew it before he said a single word.

Tom knew he knew. The self-perpetuating feedback loop of emotions and apprehension fed itself until they were both completely aware of the other’s consciousness.

_ I don’t know. _

A realm of what-if’s opened up before Harry as he was thrust into the maze of possibilities with no actualities without any sort of guide

Tom didn’t say a word as Harry picked himself up from the couch and made his way towards the Great Hall.

 

* * *

 

He was abnormally quiet as the days turned into weeks and the worries that had been so absent during Harry’s holiday evolved slowly but consistently into something greater, like a snowball rolling down a hill.

Small bits of advice were offered occasionally, but tensions ran high. Tom did not offer anything in the form of explanation, and Harry feared any answer he may have received nonetheless, although he doubted he would get anything of any merit.

Krum, similarly, had gone radio silent.

Hermione, who had seemed so upbeat, so alert, so invested in her work and her studies slowly became more quiet as the time between her and Viktor’s last correspondence increased. Despite this, she maintained her schedule of returning to the library, day after day, to study as if nothing had happened.

What Harry found odd was that he hadn’t seen Krum  _ anywhere _ really. 

Whatever had happened did not change the fact that the second task was in only a few days and he had _ no clue whatsoever.  _

He was half tempted to go out swimming in the Black Lake to try to retrieve his egg himself, but Tom was quick to warn him against such idea.

_ Do you realise how dangerous the lake is? There is a reason no one swims in it-- You don’t be able to reach the bottom before encountering  _ **_something_ ** _ dark. Your magic is unpredictable enough as is, at the moment, and I’m not certain you would be able to handle it, even if you were at your fittest. _

Harry could only grumble incoherently in response. Everything seemed to be going down the drain, at the moment.

He couldn’t dive after it, or he’d most likely meet his certain doom. He couldn’t summon it because of the damn charm the judges had placed on it during the first task that they had never taken off. Krum had disappeared, either out of malice towards Harry or malice inflicted upon himself, preventing him from communicating with them, which left Harry with absolutely no plan to speak of. He was, in all aspects, screwed.

It felt as though everything around him was falling apart and he had no way of reassembling the ruins. A dark cloud of despair hung over Harry, following him everywhere he went and like two negative ends of a magnet, seemingly everyone was repelled by him and kept their distance. 

Even his friends had abandoned him the days leading up the the second task, it seemed. He couldn’t find either Hermione or Ron anywhere, leaving him with Tom and his own thoughts to keep himself company.

_ It will all work out fine, Harry. _

‘How can you say that after having seen the first task?’

_ You are not completely hopeless, nor do you give yourself nearly enough credit. You are a product of your environment, currently, and you are functioning as well as you can, as a result. Quite admirably, if I do say so myself. _

The compliments made Harry flush, something churning in his chest, but the worry superseded any positive feeling provided. He let out a long sigh.

_ I will make sure nothing happens to you. _

‘You’re a voice in my head.’

_ I think you vastly underestimate the power that can have, Harry. I am a certifiable prodigy of all fields of magic-- I think on my feet, I am creative in my solutions, and I refuse to let anything happen to you at the hands of anyone else.  _

Harry took a deep breath, willing Tom’s words to try to soothe him. For some reason, it didn’t work.

 

* * *

 

The day he was dreading came upon him soon enough when he was summoned to the same docks where he had lost the golden egg and told to dress to swim. From that very moment, he knew that no matter any of the advice Tom gave, this would not end well.

He was one push away from hyperventilating on the dock and, consequently, falling off the dock, and becoming submerged in the lake.  

Hermione and Ron were nowhere to be seen.

Krum stood tall as ever near the other champions, not a single hint of an expression on his face. He did not meet Harry’s eyes as he gazed out onto the open water.

As Professor Dumbledore explained their task, a realisation struck Harry-- something he sorely missed was taken, and he would have to retrieve it.

He vaguely wondered if it was his sanity.

_ I am afraid that remains, dear Harry. _

Something brushed against his side and he flinched, looking up from his bare feet standing on the wood planks of the dock.

Cassius Warrington stood next to him, eyes locked forward at Dumbledore, but his arm lingered close to Harry. He gave him an analyzing, curious side-glance, his brow furrowed. Harry opened his mouth as if to say something, but pursed his lips instead, his shoulders tensing. Cassius’ eyes softened their probing look to something more sympathetic. He nudged Harry in what the younger boy could only assume was encouragement.

_ Harry. _

Said boy blinked, brought out of the physical world and back into the deep expanse of his thoughts. ‘Yes?’

_ I have an idea, but I must ask you to trust me. _

His heart wrenched in his chest. ‘Trust you with what?’

_ I have a theory that may enable you to be able to use magic successfully. It is only a theory, for we have not tested it, but if I am correct in my assumptions, it should have no reason not to work. I must ask you to submit to my own will, once more, however. _

Harry could tell Dumbledore’s speech was drawing to a close. All of the other champions stood tall, seemingly so confident.

_ You must not push back or fight against it whatsoever. I do not dare to contemplate the consequences that should occur if my spell is broken to be replaced with your own, meters underwater. _

He would drown.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Harry was aware of a whistle being blown and the other champions diving into the water, but still he stood on the edge of the dock, facing the lake. His hands shook, clenched, as he considered the only real option he had.

‘I give you permission.’

His body instantly relaxed, his fists unclenching. His wand hand and lips cast a spell he couldn’t recall knowing and he plunged into the icy water of the lake.

What happened next was only a blur, as though he was only watching what happened to him and his body, watching himself do things that, while not a surprise to him, as he had heard the thoughts preceding them, didn’t happen out of his own initiative. Somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to care. A part of it was nice, in that he didn’t have to think for himself for once in his life, nor was he being directed into some strange role he never desired in the first place. Tom’s hold over him, as both he and him combined together in their collective consciousness swam through the Black Lake to retrieve Ron, seemed natural in a way that would have unnerved Harry if he had any inhibition left. 

But inhibition would have involved worry and control, and all such feelings had fled Harry as soon as Tom had began willing the feelings away to focus on more pressing matters.  

He was weightless, even as he pulled himself and Ron to the surface of the water, and the bubbles around their heads dissolved. His body didn’t seem as numb as it should have after having swam in a lake during deep winter.

Cheers and warm towels greeted them both, but the other champions did not. Harry was informed he was the first to return.

Krum was the second, with Hermione in his arms. He ignored Harry, and stood instead of sitting down next to him. Hermione shivered, her hair frizzed out from the water and looked searchingly towards Krum, but he ignored her as well. He looked past her towards the lake.

Hermione sat down next to Ron.

A few minutes afterwards, Fleur appeared, coughing and sputtering water, to be greeted by warm towels as Harry had been. She sat next to him, holding her head in her arms.

‘Maybe you should comfort her. That looked like her sister down there.’

Tom ignored him.

Cassius was the last to arrive, with who looked like an older, middle-aged woman Harry had never seen before. They had little resemblance between the two of them. She looked tired, in Harry’s opinion. Her eyes were permanently squinting, and she crossed her arms over her chest as soon as a towel had been placed over her shoulders. She and Cassius did not sit.

Cassius breathed heavily and looked around the dock at all the other champions and their important persons. He made eye contact with Harry. Harry blinked and nodded. Cassius frowned.

The scores were presented and the champions, as well as the spectators, made to leave. 

Hermione and Ron flanked both of his sides. Hermione was silent, but Ron tried to make conversation. Harry responded only politely. Ron soon stopped trying.

_ ‘Tom?’ _

They reached Gryffindor tower and Harry broke off from the two of them. He told them he was going to go take a shower.

_ ‘What are you doing? Let go.’ _

He returned to his dorm and rummaged through his trunk, procuring three items.

He wore one, put one in the pocket of his robe, and opened the other.

_ ‘Please, Tom.’ _

“I solemnly swear I am up to no good,” he whispered. 

He left the dorm and left the common room and left Gryffindor tower. He took the stairs down to the second floor.

_ ‘Please don’t do this.’ _

He tore off the cloak and tore open the door to the second floor girl’s bathroom. 

_ ‘Please.’ _

He smiled as he folded one of the objects he had procured. 

“Mischief Managed.”

_ He was pushing so hard. _

He took his first step into the bathroom, his shoes clicking against the tiles.

_ How did this happen? _

Another step, feet carrying him toward the sink. Left leg, right leg.

_ Was it a lie? _

He looked at his reflection in the mirror above the porcelain.

_ Did he remember? _

Scarlet as his Gryffindor robes.

‘Tom--’

He traced the faucet, feeling for the inscribed serpent he knew so very well.

**_‘Tom--’_ **

“Well, look who decided to finally visit me,” shrilled a simultaneously morose voice.

Harry’s eyes widened at the image of the person who appeared in the mirror behind him.

“It’s been months since you promised you’d come talk to me.” The sound of sniffling echoed off the tiles.

His fingers clenched the rim of the sink.

He took a deep breath, closing his eyes. “I couldn’t forget about you. I’ve just been very busy these last few months.”

She giggled and he could feel the chill of her presence swoop over near his shoulders. “It’s okay, Harry--” she drawled. “As long as you’re here with me now--”

He opened his eyes and looked at the ghostly form behind him through the mirror, his red eyes meeting Myrtle’s.

She let out a bloodcurdling scream and the door flew open, banging against the wall.

“ _ Expelliarmus-- _ ”

Harry’s wand flew out of his hand. Another wand pointed itself at his chin. On the other side of the wand was a very distressed Cassius, face flushed red  and robes disheveled.

He panted as Harry held completely still. Neither of them said a word, an unstated conversation taking place as Cassius glared furiously at Harry. 

Once he regained his breath, Cassius stalked over to Harry’s wand, never once breaking eye contact, and retrieved it from the floor.

Harry’s hands never released their grip from the sink. 

Cassius turned back to him after shoving Harry’s wand into his back pocket. “I don’t know who you are, but you need to leave. Now.” 

Harry cocked his head to the side, eyebrows raised. “What? You know who I am--”

“You are not Harry Potter,” Cassius asserted, his gaze so firm, men lesser than Tom might have wept out of fear. “Leave.”

“I cannot.”  Harry’s body turned to leave against the sink, crossing his arms over his chest. “Whatever you think you may know… you do not know the entire situation,” he drawled. 

Cassius didn’t blink. “I know what I was told, and from what I have seen, it’s absolutely true.”

“And who told you of this?” Harry raised an eyebrow lazily.

“I-- I just knew this was going to happen. I am never wrong with the things I see.”

Harry smirked. “How unfortunate for you that your vision did not foretell who you would be up against.” He tutted at Cassius, shaking his head mockingly. “Seers, thinking they know  _ everything _ .”

Harry was positively lost. If his body had been reacting to his internal state of misery and pure, arduously primal  _ fear,  _ his heart would be threatening to beat outside of his chest. 

None of it mattered anymore. Cassius, decidedly, was his only hope.

“You think I need a wand to defeat you? Did your  _ vision  _ dictate such to you?” Harry’s voice lilted derisively in a way he had never imagined he was capable. “I’m almost tempted to call you a Gryffindor.” He took a step towards Cassius, who took a step backwards.

The door of a bathroom stall slammed close, the sound of Myrtle’s sobs muffled behind it.

“Do you really hold yourself in such high regard that you think you stand a moment’s chance?” Harry’s mouth taunted. “You could have just run along and pretended you never saw anything.”

This couldn’t go on. Harry began pushing harder against the urge to just let go and fade out of consciousness.  _ How had Tom gained control so easily? _

He took a step closer, Cassius back. Cassius frowned, his wand hand shaking until it slightly lowered from Harry’s face.

“Isn’t that what you always do? Forget what you see as soon as you see it, and never tell anyone?” Harry’s voice lowered. “Why start now? Harry would have to thank you-- make a big scene out of it. He’s under so much scrutiny, it would be in the Prophet within  _ hours _ .” He leaned his face close to Cassius’.

Cassius looked down, his dirty blonde hair falling in his face.

“The woe of Sight,” his voice was but a whisper. “I’m sorry, dear Cassius, but not all with gifts should cherished. There is always a price. Just as Cassandra would not be heard, you cannot speak a word if you are  _ dead _ .”

Harry’s chest burned as if a hot poker was stabbing into his flesh and twisting until he could hardly breathe. 

“You are not meant for this.” His tongue felt heavy in his mouth.

Harry tried to push once more, but felt Tom push back even harder, leaving him dizzy and his head throbbing as pinpricks of red light filled his vision.

“Why don’t you help me?” His eyebrows twitched as he cocked his head. Cassius looked up, blue eyes wide in confusion. A bit of dirt smudged his cheek.

“Help you?”

“I can assure you, Cassius,” Harry’s mouth drawled, his eyes narrowed, staring down at Cassius’. “You will find you have much more to gain from aiding me than from rescuing a pathetic little boy so naive, he allowed himself to be taken advantage of in the first place.” His voice had gone sickly sweet, as if he was truly regretful such an incident had taken place.

It hurt. Like hell, it hurt. Harry felt as though he could throw up, heave and heave, until his heart hurled itself out of his mouth to never return. It would be worth it, if it meant he would never feel like this ever again. 

He thought he could feel himself swallow dryly, but he couldn’t breathe in again. He couldn’t breathe at all.

A large pair of hands gripped his throat, fingertips digging into his skin. His body thrashed, his hands pushing against the shorter Slytherin’s chest, but Cassius held fast. They grappled for a moment, Harry grabbing at Cassius’ arms, until Cassius kicked his shin and managed to wrap him into a headlock.

Harry gaped like a fish, gasping for breath as Cassius held his wand to his forehead.

“ _ Esto ei, Dómini, turris fortitúdinis _ \--” He yelled out. A bright light flooded Harry’s vision and it  _ burned so bad  _ and _ he could hear screaming _ and _ was that his actual body--  _ “ _ A fácie inimíci _ \--”

He fell to his knees coughing, feeling as though he’d just been doused in cold water. His blinked several times, looking down at his hands outstretched on the tile floor. A pair of mud-covered shoes stood in front of him, and a wand nudged his forehead. 

Harry looked up--

_ He looked up. _

He collapsed to the ground and felt his face. He could  _ move-- _

“Harry?”

He looked back up at Cassius who held a solemn expression on his face, frowning. As soon as Harry met his gaze, Cassius lowered his wand.

Something wet dripped down Harry’s chin. He blinked and realised he was crying. When he attempted to take a deep breath, his throat clenched and he wheezed before breaking out into a cough.

A hand placed itself on his shoulder. Harry looked back up at Cassius, meeting his blue eyes, now bloodshot. The older boy crouched next to him and sat down on the tile before wrapping an arm around his shoulder.

Harry’s chest heaved and shivered before he collapsed onto Cassius’ chest, sobbing into the green fabric of his shirt.

Cassius did not attempt to console Harry through words, simply offering a warm body to provide comfort. He patted his back as Harry’s tears stained his clothes.

A bathroom stall door creaked open, and the ghostly form of Myrtle spilled out. Her sniffles paled in comparison to the sobs convulsing through Harry’s body, his entire body shaking,  despite Cassius providing the only support he had at that very moment.

Myrtle hovered towards them both cautiously, before sinking down beside them on the floor.

The three sat without a word spoken between them for quite some time, until Harry’s sobs turned to sniffles, and sniffles turned to deep breaths, and he could finally breath for himself again.

He wasn’t sad. He would not be sad. He was  _ angry _ \-- but whether it was with Riddle or with himself, he couldn’t distinguish.

“Are you alright?” uttered the low, gravelly voice of Cassius.

Harry breathed deeply through his nose and out through his mouth. He didn’t say a word. 

Cassius shook his head. “Can I ask how this happened?”

“I don’t know.” His voice came out hoarse, throat so completely  _ sore _ . Cassius looked down at his throat and grit his teeth, cringing.

“Do you want to go to the medical wing?”

“Huh?” Harry blinked in confusion.

Cassius scratched the back of his neck. “Your neck. It looks like you were mauled by-- something.”

“Ah--” Harry frowned-- “I’d rather not-- there’d be--”

“Questions,” Cassius sighed, staring down at the ground. “I’m already pestering you now, aren’t I? You should be resting-- I’m sure you have a lot to think about.”

“Yeah,” Harry breathed out slowly. 

“Come.” Cassius stood up and reached down a hand to Harry. “I’ll take you back to your dorm. Make sure no one bothers you.”

Back to Gryffindor Tower, Harry thought, frowning. If he recalled correctly, he-- no,  _ Tom _ , had told Hermione and Ron he would be taking a shower before he disappeared. He’d been gone for so long, they’d probably be worried.

The thought of dealing with their questions at this point in time drained Harry emotionally dry, and it hadn’t even happened. 

“...Cassius..?” Harry tried out the older boy’s name on his tongue. The oddity of relying on him, a  _ Slytherin _ , made him initially uneasy, but thinking back to the events earlier in the bathroom painted him in a better light than some of the  _ others _ he had met from the house. Malfoy and Riddle, namely. 

“Yes?” He cocked his head.

Riddle had seemed so distraught at the idea of showing anyone the Room of Requirement-- but could it really be so bad? Cassius deliberately chose to help Harry over joining Riddle-- that had to count for something, didn’t it?

“Can you take me somewhere else? I want to be alone.”

Cassius raised an eyebrow. “Where did you have in mind?”

Harry rose from the floor, not having taken Cassius’ offered hand, and wiped the dust off his trousers. “It’s on the 7th floor.”

Cassius nodded slowly and followed after Harry as he exited the bathroom.

 

* * *

 

They walked in comfortable silence beside each other through the halls. It was evening, but curfew would not take place for a few hours yet, so students still roamed the halls, socializing amongst themselves. Cassius and Harry both stood out, both prominent as Hogwarts’ champions, but their rather disheveled appearances must have warned off any passerby who may have attempted to speak with either of them.

At least, until they reached the fourth floor. The stairs to the upper levels lied just beyond the library, where awaited a group of people Harry did not have the will nor desire to speak to.

“Potter-- what are  _ you _ doing here?” sneered a haughty voice Harry knew entirely too well and had not enough patience in the world to endure.

Draco Malfoy stepped in front of Harry, Crabbe and Goyle off to the side, looking rather out of place in front of the trolley of books outside the library.

Cassius placed a hand on Harry’s chest, prodding him to take a step back. Malfoy looked at the older Slytherin with wide-eyes, as if he had just noticed he was there. “We are busy, Malfoy-- tournament related things that do not involve you. If you have any desire for a  _ Hogwarts _ champion to win, you would leave us be.” His last words were noticeably clipped and Malfoy seemed to pick up on it.

Despite this, he blubbered incredulously for a response. “B-busy-- are you two working  _ together _ ?”

Harry remained silent, letting Cassius do all the talking.

“We have a mutually beneficial alliance, not that it concerns you whatsoever. Now, if all you are here to do is gape like a fish and ask pointless questions, we will be leaving--”

Malfoy huffed in an attempt to save grace. Cassius placed a hand on the small of Harry’s back in a bid to guide him away from Draco and began to walk past him.

Harry turned his head just in time to see Draco turn dramatically and check him in the shoulder  _ hard _ , before he strut off down the opposite end of the hall, Crabbe and Goyle in tow.

“Bloody git--” He rubbed his shoulder. Why did Malfoy have to be so…  _ bony? _

Cassius sighed. “I’ll deal with him later. Come on.” He nodded forward, removing his hand from Harry’s back.

They reached the seventh floor without any further interruptions, although a group of Gryffindors definitely gave the duo an odd look as they passed by.

Harry paced in front of the Room of Requirement as he had seen Dobby done months previous, while Cassius stood awkwardly beside him, observing his movements with raised brows.

_ Somewhere to relax, to get away from it all. _

“What are you--”

The older boy stopped, seemingly in shock, as the door appeared out of thin air. Harry stepped towards the door, before turning his head back towards Cassius expectantly. He soon followed behind him as Harry entered the room.

It was a room eerily similar to the one he had found Winky in, but with subtle changes. Exactly what, Harry could not place his finger on, but it simply felt… different.

He collapsed on the couch adorned with all sorts of blankets and pillows, cocooning himself within the layers as if he was building a nest to protect him from the outside world. Cassius awkwardly followed, taking his residence upon an armchair nearby.

Harry let out a deep sigh and closed his eyes. 

“Have you ever heard of Tom Riddle?”

Cassius seemed surprised at Harry’s initiative but soon caught himself. “Yes? He was one of the few Slytherins in Hogwarts’ history to ever receive an award for special services to the school.” He furrowed his brow, as if trying to understand the relevance of Harry’s question.

Harry continued shakily. “He got it because they thought he found the person who opened the Chamber of Secrets back in his time.” He grit his teeth. “But he didn’t.”

Cassius narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth as if to speak, but closed it, simply nodding for Harry to continue.

“He opened the Chamber of Secrets. He was the heir of Slytherin. When he realised he was about to get caught, he blamed another person.

“When he realised he was about get caught, he--”

Harry stopped and shook his head. Cassius had pursed his lips and remained silent, looking down toward the floor. 

“He implanted his memory into a diary, in an attempt to one day open the Chamber once more, in the future. Ginny Weasley found that diary during my second year-- your fourth. He possessed her.”

Realisation dawned on Cassius’ face as he looked back up at Harry.

“I saved her, but… you know what happened to her,” he sighed. “I tried to destroy the diary, but its-- its indestructible. So I kept it.

“The only reason he was able to possess her was because she wrote in the diary all the time. I didn’t-- at least, I barely did. But starting this year… I started hearing a voice in my head. Tom Riddle’s voice.”

Harry paused, assessing Cassius’ reaction. He sat tensely on the armchair, fingers clenching the wooden armrests, but otherwise at full attention. He didn’t make any motion to try to speak, simply watching Harry, awaiting his next words.

“I don’t know when it started, but once he was there he wouldn’t leave. Or, well, he said he couldn’t but I-- I don’t even know anymore. We talked. I thought he-- I don’t know.” Harry began to speak again, but hesitated. His voice went high-pitched for a moment as he recalled the days previous. “It was almost as though he didn’t remember what had happened with Ginny-- he didn’t remember possessing her. He didn’t remember the things I myself had written in the diary to him. It was still Tom Riddle but… with different memories? I guess?”

Harry held his head down and ran his messy hair through his fingers, mussing it even further.

“Then one thing led to another and I lost my clue and the second task was coming up and-- we had talked and--” He sighed-- “He said he could help me. And I was stupid enough to let him. I knew he was an awful person, but I thought-- I thought he wouldn’t do that to  _ me _ .”

Cassius rose from his chair abruptly and bridged the distance between them both, taking a seat next to Harry on the sofa. Wrapping an arm around his shoulder, he began speaking. “It isn’t your fault. Some people… cannot be helped or change their ways, even if they ever wanted to.” 

Harry’s heart wrenched in his chest, and he found it almost as hard to breathe for himself as when Tom had taken control of his body-- had  _ possessed _ him.

“I wish half of the world was as idealistic as you. We might live in a much better world, if then.”

Something about those words sounded so familiar. Harry held his head in his hands and took a deep breath. 

He uttered his next words so softly Cassius had to lean in to hear him. “I just don’t understand why.”

“It was not anything you did.” Cassius sat back up straight, staring across the room, frowning. “The world is a cruel place-- It molds all of us the way it wishes, as a result of the people around us and the conditions in which we live. Once the clay has hardened, there’s no resculpting its form.” 

Harry gulped at that thought. If that was true… how had he ended up? Was his fate sealed, as well? 

Cassius blinked out of whatever trance he had fallen into beside Harry, turning to the younger Gryffindor. “I’m sorry you had to find such a truth out at such a young age, but… something tells me you’ve already met several inconvenient truths in your life. How you’ve remained so idealistic, I can’t begin to fathom, yet--” He stopped, his mouth left open, as if searching for his next words carefully. “I won’t discourage you to maintain that viewpoint, but please. Be a bit more suspicious-- if you can keep that childlike forgiveness simultaneously, well-- that’s near impossible.” 

He frowned. “I’m just babbling at this point--” he shook his head-- “You’re not a complete idiot, Harry. You just have a habit of getting yourself into the worst situations imaginable, it seems. The Chamber of Secrets, the Triwizard Tournament,  _ this--”  _ Cassius sighed at Harry, but couldn’t keep a straight face.

Harry tried to smile back, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Thanks. For saving me. For trying to comfort me.”

Cassius narrowed his eyes. “Trying?”

“You’re okay. For a Slytherin.”

A large hand landed on top of his head, ruffling Harry’s hair back and forth until he was dazed and wide-eyed at both the gesture and the proximity of the hand to his head-- namely, his neck. He tried swallowing but found it painful under the bruises.

Cassius seemed to realise what he did a moment too late. “Ah-- I’m sorry, Harry. I--” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “I forgot. Really, it hadn’t even seemed like I was strangling you-- it was... well…”

Harry grit his teeth. “ _ Him _ . I know. It’s-- it’s alright. I understand why you did it.”

The older boy nodded awkwardly. “Right. I apologize. Truly.” He blinked, scratching the back of his neck, before patting Harry on the shoulder.

The flutter of paper drew both of their attentions at once. Something had fallen out of Harry’s robes and onto his pile of blankets. Upon further inspection, it proved to be the paper form of a small crane, flapping its parchment wings slowly. Down the center, Harry could see the curves of cursive lettering written across it.

He reached his hand out cautiously, as if the charmed object were actually a real animal and any sudden motion might spook it, causing it to fly away to never reveal its true contents. His hand was quickly batted away, however, as Cassius poked his wand at the paper crane. Its wings ceased flapping and instead collapsed.

Cassius eyed it cautiously, before retracting his wand. Harry raised an eyebrow at him as he reached down. He took the paper in his hands, unfolding it to reveal the words written within.

The writing was beautiful, swooping, round loops and subtle flicks of an obviously high-quality quill on well-made parchment. 

_ Potter, _

_ I require your assistance with a matter of utmost secrecy. Consider this your payment for my aid during the First Task. Meet me in the room next to the potions classroom at 10:00pm tonight and prepare to stay for approximately two hours. Bring your wits (what little you have). _

_ Do not tell anyone of this. Don’t be late. _

_ M _

Harry frowned. Malfoy--

“What’s this about?” Cassius raised an eyebrow.

Harry sighed. “Malfoy helped me in the first task. Although, I don’t have the best feeling about this.”

Cassius hmmed. “That room contains Professor Snape’s personal labroom. It is typically locked,” he drawled tersely. 

Something about this situation seemed oddly familiar, when Harry remembered what had happened with Krum. One thought led to another and the incident following it instantly appeared in his memory-- the time he had trusted Tom, and he hadn’t misused that trust.

It was all a ploy. He sighed and shook his head.

Krum hadn’t showed up, spurring Hermione’s feeling of betrayal. They still hadn’t heard from him the days before the third task and Harry had never seen her so… lifeless. 

This time, Malfoy was the one asking to meet in the dark of the night in a far-off corner of the castle, not with the promise of information, moreso a demand of service. 

Logically, it wouldn’t make sense for him  _ not _ to show up. He had Harry at a disadvantage already, with him owing the Slytherin a debt. 10:00 was curfew exactly-- if he got caught, he could, theoretically, say he got lost in the dungeons. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had disappeared in the labyrinth that was the snake’s domain of the castle.

“I’ll keep an eye out in the common room tonight and give him hell if he doesn’t show up.” Cassius frowned. “There’s not much else I can do, though.”

Harry rubbed his eyes. “Might as well get it over with sooner than later,” he grumbled. 

 

* * *

 

Harry had decided to just stay in the Room of Requirement until it was curfew, nestled in his pile of blankets. Cassius sat beside him, providing a distraction from all the heavy thoughts that had been plaguing his mind that day. It was difficult to pay attention to dark clouds when a beacon of light insisted upon displaying itself before you.

“So what is this room, exactly?” Cassius eventually asked.

“The Room of Requirement-- walk past the banner outside a few times thinking about what you need, and the room will give you it, I guess.”   
“You guess?” Cassius raised an eyebrow.

Harry shrugged. “I haven’t really used it all that much.”

“Hmm. I’ve never heard of it. Does anyone else know about this?”

“The house elves. I don’t know about the students.”

Cassius frowned. “Strange magic.”

Harry remembered a bit from an earlier conversation he had had. “I think it has to do with the rune outside on the banner?”

“Possibly. It would not be the rune alone, however. This would require extremely advanced charmwork. Although, to the founders, such work might have been trivial..”He drawled off, before catching himself. “Anyhow, I believe it is time for me to return to my common room. Curfew is in ten minutes.” He gave Harry a pointed look. “Take care of yourself.”

Harry nodded. “Thank you.”

He waited for Cassius to leave before putting on his invisibility cloak and opening the Marauder’s Map. Tracing the inky lines of rooms and people alike, he found the dungeons easily enough. 

Malfoy’s dot was already in the adjoining room to the Potions classroom. Harry breathed a sigh of something he couldn’t quite distinguish the feeling of, neither relief nor despair. Perhaps just resignation. Something told him this would be a long night.

He found his body getting progressively colder as he scaled down the numerous sets of stairs leading down to the dungeons. So used to walking under his cloak, he was able to quiet his steps whenever a prefect may have passed, patrolling the halls. Eventually, he reached the potions classroom and eyed the door next to it that never before had he seen opened. 

_ Snape’s personal lab room _ , he thought. Just how did Malfoy get access to it, and what for?

He looked around his person, checking the map once more, and found the dungeons to be void of all people besides him and Draco. The thought struck him there that the Slytherin common room wasn’t even on the map. He frowned.

Slowly, he reached out a hand to grasp the knob of the door. While in the past, when others had been mucking around in the halls before Potions class and had jokingly grabbed the handle, it had never turned. Tonight, under Harry’s own hand, it did turn quite easily. The door opened silently, without even a creak to give indication it had opened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to @mau-demort for betaing <3 Love you.  
> Follow me @thelastnero on Tumblr for asks and spicy memes.
> 
> Thanks for reading, commenting, following, and giving kudos <3 It means a lot to me.


	16. Blood, Toil, Tears, and Sweat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Gore. Not for the faint of heart. Didn't mean for it to happen, it just did, lol.  
> Thanks to Maurey for betareading <3

Ash, ash—

You poke and stir.

Flesh, bone, there is nothing there--

A cake of soap, 

A wedding ring,

A gold filling.

Herr God, Herr Lucifer

Beware

Beware.

Out of the ash

I rise with my red hair

And I eat men like air.

-Sylvia Plath

 

The lab room was dimly lit, and Harry instantly felt its warmth seep out into the cold of the hallway as he opened the door. He stepped in quickly. 

Maybe this wasn’t the smartest thing he could be doing. He gulped as possibility after possibility ran through his head, until he finally willed himself to calm down and focus on what he actually knew. Cassius, at the very least, knew where he was and who he was with. 

Malfoy hadn’t even noticed his entry, or perhaps, hadn’t the time to give it any attention, as his focus was entirely concentrated on the cauldron in front of him. A strange odour permeated throughout the room, only amplified by the humidity. Harry scrunched up his nose, but Malfoy seemed to not even be bothered. Harry took off his cloak and muttered the incantation to close the Marauder’s Map, slipping it into his robes’ pocket.

“Malfoy?” 

The blonde’s arm twitched back ever so slightly and he frowned, his lips pursing, nose wrinkling. “You’re four minutes late, Potter.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Sorry?” What was  _ his _ deal?

“Potions are extremely time-sensitive work--” He grit his teeth-- “But I wouldn’t expect you to know anything about that. Now, pass me some of the powdered dragon horn over there.” He made a vague gesture towards a shelf of vials.

Harry gave him a blank look. After a period of silence, Malfoy looked up and huffed. His hand kept stirring as he gave Harry an explanation.

“It’s a very light, yellow powder-- very fine. You can tell your colors apart, can’t you, Potter?” 

Harry grumbled something and walked over to the shelf. He scanned it, looking for some trace of what Malfoy had described, eventually just grabbing the closest thing for lack of time, wanting to avoid Malfoy’s impatience.

“Here.” He held it out to Malfoy.

Malfoy looked unamused. “Pour it in-- can’t you see I’m stirring?”

Harry bit his lip to refrain from insulting him.  _ Two hours,  _ he thought.

Malfoy eventually assigned him to other jobs, pulling out another cauldron of unknown origins and ingredients and telling him to “not muck up the stirring like he did his potions in Snape’s class.”

What potion required near  _ constant  _ stirring, Harry was at a loss to remember. Typically, stirs would only be added after an ingredient was added, or at specific times, or some other criterion. Both of these potions, however, seemed outliers. 

“What are you trying to make, exactly?” 

Malfoy glared at the potion in the cauldron in front of him with an unspoken fury. “It’s none of your business, Potter.”

Harry narrowed his eyes. “Considering I’m helping you make it, I’d be worried if it was something that… say, you  _ shouldn’t _ have been making. Liability, and all that.”

Malfoy didn’t say a word, simply simmering, as he didn’t tear his eyes away from the cauldron. Harry sneaked a glance over at him, and it looked to him as though Malfoy’s grey eyes weren’t quite watching what was in front of him, but looking beyond it, as if he was contemplating something deeper.

They continued in their stiff silence for Harry didn’t know how long, the time achingly aggravating and utterly tedious. All he could do was stare down at the murky green in front of him and wonder where he had seen that exact shade before. The moment he tried to recall where, he instantly felt nauseous and his mind twisted something unnatural, to his confusion and directly challenging his nerve.

He blinked, and the thought of Tom Riddle flashed in his head, gone as quickly as his lids transitioned from closed to open. An uncomfortable heat flooded his body, which, combined with the humidity and the fumes of the potions, almost causing him to  sweat. He removed his outer robes awkwardly, trying to keep one hand stirring the potion at all times, switching from arm to arm as he rolled up his shirt sleeves afterwards.

Malfoy snickered. "Keep your clothes on, Potter. I realise how tempting this situation must be, you alone with someone like me in a place probably as small as the closet you're used to hiding in, but please, control yourself."

Harry recoiled. 

Not quite a closet, but a cupboard, he thought. But the thought was still there. No, that wasn't what Malfoy had meant. There was no possible way for him to have known that. He was just egging him on.

Malfoy, however, seemed to take Harry's silence as something... else. He frowned slightly and huffed, turning back to his cauldron. The faint traces of a blush reddened his cheeks.

Harry shifted his shoulders awkwardly, returning his gaze back to his own cauldron. Malfoy didn't... no, that was impossible. They hated each other. Sighing, he loosened his tie ever so slightly. His fingers brushed against the gold chain of the locket, its coolness a startling, yet serendipitous contrast to the heat of the room and the body it was worn by.

The sound of Malfoy murmuring next to him drew his attention.

"Three more minutes, then begin stirring counter-clockwise, combine the two separate potions, put in the blood parsley-- what?!" Malfoy whisper-shrieked. 

That did not sound like the beginnings of something promising. 

"Potter, stir this cauldron for a moment."

Harry blinked rapidly. "Both of them?" 

Malfoy gave him an incredulous look. "Yes, both of them, did I stutter?"

He near-threw his wand at Harry, who only caught it due to his seeker reflexes, and began shuffling about through the ingredients on the shelf beside them. Harry stirred obediently, while trying to get some sort of idea of what Malfoy was doing.

Evidently, the Slytherin was becoming more and more frustrated as time went on. 

"It's not here. It's not  _ here--  _ that blasted--  _ he told me everything would be here. _ " Malfoy paced back and forth, and, if Harry was completely honest, it was starting to give him anxiety.

He turned to Harry with a fierce look in his eyes, grabbing both of their wands out of his hands, and shoving Harry out of the way. "Potter, I need you to go to Snape's office and get something-- quickly. As if your life depended on it, because  _ someone’s _ does. You know what blood parsley looks like?" He looked at Harry, wide-eyed, before closing his eyes and shaking his head. "What am I saying, of course you don't. Blast it, just summon it. You know the bloody spell, don't you? Run there and get it. Summoning it from here won't be fast enough-- Why are you just standing there, go--" 

If looks could physically manifest into a force able to act upon their surroundings, Malfoy's icy glare would have been enough to push Harry out the lab room, down the hall, and through the door to Snape's office in a single, tumultuous wind of contempt, resentment, and unresolved sexual tension. 

His legs carried him down the hall as quickly as he could, foregoing his cloak in favor of saving time, and hoping for the best. He didn’t have time to think about how loudly his shoes echoed across the halls of the dungeons, nor whom he might have seen had he looked at the Marauder’s Map.

He stopped in front of Snape’s door, desperately grabbing at the handle, only to find it unlocked. Pulling out his wand, he threw the door open and looked across the numerous shelves. 

Considering he had no idea what…  _ blood parsley  _ looked like, it seemed his only option was summoning the ingredient, as Malfoy had suggested.

“ _ Accio blood parsley- _ -”

He saw it coming from not a kilometer away, but rather meters. There was a crash and glass smashed across the room as Harry’s wand backfired and sent out multiple discharges of static, arcs bouncing across the room like boomerangs with homing devices, dead set on destroying the room. A heavy glass jar socked him in the gut, knocking him over, and, consequently, a side table as well-- another crash of glass to the floor.

This was bad. If someone hadn’t heard that, he would have been surprised. Looking down in his lap at the jar, Harry could distinguish something that definitely looked like some kind of kitchen herb, yet was oddly a deep, almost black red. Some kind of red liquid dewed its leaves which flexed as if it was almost breathing. Grimacing, he picked himself and the jar up and ran out the door--

Straight into the hard chest of an unknown person who Harry prayed to whatever Gods that may have existed was  _ not  _ Snape.

The gruff voice he heard and the wand pointed in his face made him soon realise that, of all people, Snape may not have been the worst person to encounter that night.

It came without warning. “ _ Petrificus totalus _ !” 

The jar in Harry’s hands dropped to the floor, shattering glass across the hall, the odd, scarlet liquid containing the even odder plant spilling everywhere, splattering the floor and the walls as if someone had just been assaulted right where the two wizards stood.

“This is the  _ second time _ I’ve caught you out after curfew, Potter--” Moody shouted and if Harry could cringe, he well would have. Currently, however, he was completely  _ paralyzed _ , only able to blink his eyes rapidly in shock. “Hiding under invisibility cloaks, strolling about with artifacts of questionable origins-- stealing from your professor-- you’re up to something, and sleepwalking isn’t going to cut it now--”

Moody’s glass eye twitched, turning and looking in the opposite direction of his real eye, toward the floor and across the walls. It stopped moving , having focused in on one particular object lying on the ground-- the plant matter strewn all over. 

“If you weren’t in school, you’d be taking a first-class flight to Azkaban right now.”

_ What _ was going on? This was not good. Whatever the hell that plant had been, whatever Malfoy had been up to-- of course, he should have known something would happen. It was just his luck, wasn’t it? Nothing had seemed to have gone right for him in the last year, why wouldn’t Sod’s Law occur now-- it was just another normal night, after all, he thought bitterly. Possession, unsavory, ambiguous potions that their maker would not inform him of the real name and purpose of-- entirely  _ normal _ .

“That will not be necessary, Mad Eye.”

The emergence of the new voice startled Harry, and he didn’t have to turn his head to know who it belonged to, although he couldn’t have even if he wanted to. That sneer could only belong to one person.

Professor Snape skulked into view, accompanied by a sheepish-looking Malfoy, who refused to meet anyone’s glances, maintaining a distance behind Snape as if he would offer some sort of protection from Moody. Why he would be intimidated, Harry hadn’t the slightest clue.

As soon as Moody had caught sight of Malfoy, however, his response was absolutely visceral.

“I knew it--” 

“Knew what, may I ask?” Snape raised an eyebrow, face otherwise expressionless.

Moody breathed out through his nostrils, glaring back at Harry then looking back to Draco. He lowered his voice to not quite a whisper, but a tone quieter than an utterance. Its volume did not have any effect on the venom it possessed. “I don’t know what you are planning, Snape, but the Order has eyes and ears everywhere now-- we know what is to happen. Dumbledore may maintain his faith in you yet, but the majority of us do not share his… forgiveness,” he spat.

Snape did not blink. “Do you really think it wise to discuss such… confidential matters in front of mere students, Mad Eye? Perhaps, your judgement is…” He looked over at Harry, who felt instant unease under Snape’s analytical stare. “Slipping.”

Harry felt as though this conversation went beyond the incident at hand, lost in the river of the two dissenting currents pulling him in both directions. He snuck a glance at Malfoy, whom he found staring at the splattered remains of the blood parsley. The potion, he thought with a pang in his chest, was most likely ruined. 

“I will take Malfoy back to his common room. His punishment is mine to decide, as I am his head of house. I will fetch Minerva afterwards to deal with Potter.”

“Both of them should be brought to Professor Dumbledore--”

“You will find the Headmaster is currently absent, Mad Eye, on very important business elsewhere. Germany, I do recall,” Snape drawled. 

Moody’s glass eye twitched in recognition. 

“As she is deputy headmistress, this should meet your standards, I presume?” Snape gestured with his hands, an open palm forward. 

Moody took a step closer to Snape, looking up at him and, seemingly, trying to stare him down despite their height difference. 

“I will be informing Albus of this event once he returns. If I find he hasn’t been told by McGonagall beforehand--”

“Albus will be well aware. Now, I believe it is your duty to patrol the main hall tonight, not the dungeons,” he suggested curtly. He held out a hand towards the hall leading to the upper level. “As it were; good night.”

Moody glanced once more toward Harry and Malfoy before hobbling down the hall, his walking stick clanking against the floor.

Snape waited for Moody to disappear from sight, a dark figure shadowing against the light emitted from his wand. Once the other professor had disappeared out of sight and out of earshot, Snape turned around to face Malfoy and Harry.

Harry awaited the lecture, yet it did not meet him. 

“Professor--” Malfoy began softly, rather cautiously, only to be interrupted.

“I told you that it would have to wait another month-- and what do you do? Defy my orders and botch an entire batch of ingredients that are not only exceedingly difficult to obtain, but not--” His whisper shouting ended abruptly, as if only just realising Harry’s presence.

“Finite incantatem.” 

Harry fell to the ground with a deep intake of breath, body aching from the extended subjection to the petrifying curse.

“As for you, Potter, you will be cultivating the ingredient you stole from my stores with the help of Pomona Sprout--”

“Er-- sir? Why can’t you just salvage the one I took? It’s… over there--”

Snape’s voice scathed. “Do not interrupt me-- it is ruined, a result of your own doing. Take this opportunity, and none of the other staff will be informed of what has occurred this night. Including the headmaster. Moody will be dealt with.” Something dark twinged in his eyes. “Due to your own Gryffindor tendencies of rushing into situations you could not possibly comprehend, you have been maliciously uninformed and will remain as such. It is in your best interests to accept this as your ramification.”

Something was not right. Harry looked wide-eyed between the ever-looming Snape and Malfoy, who was still looking pointedly at the ground, and tried to figure out what  _ possibly _ could be going on. An inkling in the back of his mind prodded at his current train of thought.

It was the worst case scenario, but what else could it be?

Maybe Moody had had real reason to be specific. The Order-- that was the Order of the Phoenix, no doubt. Harry had seen the pictures of the organization, knew their purpose-- if Dumbledore had called it to order once more, then that meant he thought Lord Voldemort was returning, without much room for doubt.

It was coming together-- Snape, with his history with the Death Eaters, Malfoy’s family background. But was Malfoy stupid enough to really ask  _ him _ for help with something regarding Voldemort? Or rather… maybe he was just that petty.

_ Dumbledore would understand the situation he was in, _ was Harry’s first thought, but he soon backtracked. 

Would he?

He’d kept the diary, instead of giving it to Lucius Malfoy. He’d written in it, become close to Tom Riddle-- he’d been the naive boy Dumbledore had downright implied he was when he refused to inform him of the prophecy regarding him and Lord Voldemort.

Dumbledore would not assume he’d been involved. He would assume he’d been tricked. 

That realisation made his decision. If he was to get any sort of information, he had to stop being a liability. That either meant he had to stop and think for a moment, and prevent himself from getting into situations like this… or perhaps, just make certain Dumbledore neither saw nor heard of Harry getting himself into these sorts of sticky situations.

“When? Is this only a one time thing?” he asked with a sigh.

 

* * *

 

One morning, Snape had told him. Professor Sprout would fetch him early some unknown day in order to complete this task and avoid punishment. She, apparently, wasn’t to be informed of what had occurred, simply that Snape was…  _ entrusting _ Harry with a special task.

He doubted she bought it, but it beat having her know what truly went on. Whatever that was-- Harry still hadn’t the slightest clue of what he had been drawn into that night.

However, as the weeks passed, he found himself growing more and more anxious-- why hadn’t she called him down yet? Eventually, March passed, April came forward, and the snow of the year melted rather early, compared to normal Scottish winter weather. The rain showers that came, however, were entirely commonplace.

The threat of the final task loomed overhead, like one of the dark storm clouds that had become so omnipresent those days. Harry was glad to have an ally in Cassius -- possibly a friend?-- but the nagging thought that he could be betrayed at any moment pervaded his mind. He felt awful about it, but for all the times he had ignored logic in favor of keeping an open mind, his open-mindedness had forsaken him. He wanted to give Cassius a chance, but what if it meant a stab in the back-- hands wrapped around his throat meant for  _ him _ , not a foreign invader-- or even, he shamefully admitted to himself, humility-- being once again proven the boy the media, even Dumbledore, saw him as.

For some reason, he was unable to bring himself to be as emotional as he once could have been in the past. Whether it was his ever-growing numbness due to the betrayal he had experienced, or, rather, his now apparent apathy, he did not know. It was unsettling, but not so much that it triggered a physical, visceral response within him-- he felt almost… hollow.

When Harry felt himself being shaken awake in the wee hours of one morning, he had almost acquiesced to the possibility that maybe Sprout had forgotten, or Snape hadn’t even meant his punishment to be fulfilled. He opened his eyes groggily, blinking rapidly as his vision came into focus, and, from his position lying on his side in his bed, his analog clock came into view. 4 am.

He groaned and rubbed his eyes, half-tempted to just roll over and fall back asleep.

“Harry!” a female voice whispered urgently-- yet it was much younger sounding than he had expected. Wait-- a girl in the boy’s dorms?

“Wake up! It’s time to work--” 

Harry opened his eyes once more to find a familiar redhead standing over him. 

“Ginny?” he implored, then cleared his throat. “What’re you doing here?” 

“Professor Sprout sent me to work with you to get Snape’s special herbs, since she can’t do it herself. Now, get up--” She looked around the room cautiously.

Harry pulled himself out of bed slowly, only for a pair of loose jeans and an old t-shirt to be thrown on top of him.

Ginny smiled sheepishly. “Your clothes might get a bit ruined. Can’t wear anything nice.” 

He motioned for her to turn around, half-asleep, and she blushed, complying. 

As he pulled off his own trousers and put on the pair Ginny had thrown at him, he realised that the pair must have been one of Dudley’s hand-me-downs from years before. He frowned. That had been… how long ago exactly? A year and a half? Either way, they still fit-- instead of swallowing his body whole, they fit loosely, not quite parachuting out as they had before.

He had just pulled both of his legs through when Ginny began speaking once more in a hushed tone.

“We’ll be going around the Black Lake, toward the far side near the Forbidden Forest. It’ll be a walk, but that’s why we have to get out there early.”

“And why can’t we just go out there at, say, noon?” He let out a quiet breath as he looped his belt.

Ginny chuckled. “You should know better than that by now. Some plants can only be harvested at certain times. What we’re looking at today is well… I’ve never seen it before.”

Harry paused, his hand on the bottom of his shirt. “What is blood parsley, exactly?”

Ginny hesitated. “It’s… I haven’t read that much about it. Only vague mentions in books, always esoteric or… obscure.” 

Harry could hear the change of tone in her voice and frowned. That was not particularly comforting. He lifted his shirt over his head and threw it on his bed.

“Harry?” came Ginny’s voice, but she stuttered. He looked over and found her blushing, still standing with her back to him, but her head turned to the side. “S-sorry. I thought you were done.”

“Uh- it’s fine.” He coughed into his elbow and pulled his other shirt on.

“...You still wear it?” Ginny asked cautiously.

“Wear what?” Harry turned toward Ginny, slipping on his trainers.

She laughed, albeit a bit awkwardly. “That locket.”

Harry blinked before realising. “Oh! Uh-- yeah, I guess? I forget it’s even there sometimes. I just started wearing it and never really take it off, I guess.”

Ginny smiled, but it didn’t meet her eyes. Harry pulled the locket out of his shirt, only now just realising how cold the chain was against his skin.

The molten gold, normally so vibrant, looked slightly dull. Harry frowned. Perhaps it was simply the lighting. 

“You know, I just have this feeling that there’s something special about that locket--” Ginny said, cocking her head and gazing toward said object-- “Just a feeling. It’s odd.”

“Well, I suppose odd attracts odd, doesn’t it?” Harry raised a bemused eyebrow.

She cracked a genuine grin at him. “Let’s go.” 

 

* * *

 

A light morning mist dewed across the grass, staining Harry’s trainers as he and Ginny traversed the grounds towards the Black Lake. It was serene, the lack of hubbub of students running around leaving nature in its own solitude, only broken by the pair’s rustling movements.

Ginny made small talk, and Harry responded politely while his mind was drifting elsewhere, beyond his own control, into a state of nothingness. He blamed his early wakening. 

As the Black Lake and its docks came into view, a slow, creeping dread crawled over Harry. He took a deep breath, reassuring himself he would never be swimming in it ever again. Of course, that was not his primary concern, but he couldn’t bring himself to think of the breach of trust that had occurred after the events in the lake.

His companion stopped speaking eventually, either becoming aware that her partner did not wish to speak, or perhaps picking up on his current mood. 

She frowned and after a period of silence, spoke up. “Are you alright, Harry? You’ve been… off this morning.”

“...Off?” 

Ginny opened her mouth and hesitated, as if thinking through her words very carefully. “I know you’re normally quiet, but…” She looked down at her shoes, still stepping across the grass of the lawn. “Your mind is somewhere else. It’s not here-- Hermione’s mentioned it to me, and I thought she might have been exaggerating, but--”

Harry blinked and frowned. 

“I mean, normally, I feel like you’re listening, you know? But maybe today’s just a bad morning. Everyone has off days, it’s alright--”

Off.

Something was off.

Off, off, off, off.

Not on.

Off.

Harry sighed. Something in _ him _ was off. Something was missing, he realised with an ache that twisted even further into his gut like a dagger, once he realised a possibility of  _ why.  _ Yet, with that possibility, another arose; why  _ was _ there something missing? He had lived his life well enough without that demon in his head and had never felt like  _ this _ before-- emotionally stunted, unmotivated, thoughtless.

It felt like when Tom had etched himself deep within Harry’s psyche, he had absorbed some of his surroundings and now that he was gone, he’d taken those things with him out of spite.

“I can’t explain it, Ginny. I wish I could.” 

It wasn’t like he could tell her. Of all people, she had known what it had been like to be possessed-- the fear, the after-effects. She’d probably realise how dumb he had been to allow such a thing to happen, as well, having been familiar with her own naivety at the tender age of twelve. The difference between her and him, however, was not only his age, but his experiences-- if he’d allowed such a thing to happen to him after all he had been through, what did that say about his intelligence? Ginny had an excuse, but did he?

He thought not.

They had been walking the shoreline of the lake for a while before Ginny finally stopped. Harry blinked and noticed their odd surroundings. 

Three headstones littered the ground, weeping willows shading them from sight unless one was right there beside them.

“Who are those for?”

Ginny bit her lip. “I don’t know. Professor Sprout doesn’t, either. They’re unmarked, but it would probably be best to… tread carefully,” she uttered slowly, never bringing her eyes away from the graves. 

Harry nodded slowly, following Ginny as she walked beside one of the headstones. A cold breeze wafted through the air, and Harry shivered. Something told him that neither of them should have been there.

Ginny abruptly stopped, before slightly recoiling. Harry looked over her shoulder curiously and instantly saw what had elicited such a reaction. He had to will himself not to gag.

Splayed across the back of the headstone was the plant. It was alive, as were most plants, but it had one thing most plants did not. It was then that the smell of iron hit Harry, heady and pungent.

There was no mistaking it; the plant had blood as red as any human’s, coagulated into a mass that Harry wasn’t quite sure  _ wasn’t _ flesh or some type of blood vessel. It twitched like a muscle retracting, leaving a trail of shiny liquid across the stone of the grave.

He felt bile rise to the back of his throat, but his body didn’t move to throw up-- he stood completely still. He didn’t think he could have forced himself, either. A part of him knew what was in front of him was absolutely revolting, but it was as if he couldn’t respond to it.

“That is disgusting--” Ginny took a step back while Harry remained standing exactly where he was. She gave him a sympathetic look, gulping. Sighing, she started rummaging through a bag Harry hadn’t noticed she had had.

Eventually, she pulled a large jar of a clear liquid, most definitely not water. 

“Um-- Harry?” she asked hopefully, looking up at him.

He met her gaze. “Yeah?”

“Could you cast a heating charm on this for me?” She held out the jar to him.

Sometimes Harry forgot. He sighed and took it in his hand, pulling out his wand. If he cast it quietly, maybe it wouldn’t be as bad.

“ _ Calefacta-- _ ” he whispered, trying to dull his mind and place less focus on his words and concentration than he normally would.

The jar warmed, almost unbearably hot as bubbles began to rise to the surface, the glass steaming, and Harry would have dropped it except he  _ couldn’t _ \-- What was going on?

The smell of vinegar mixed with burning rubber permeated the air.  Ginny scrunched her nose and coughed. “I think that’s good-- a bit overkill.”

“Ginny? What’s this for, exactly?”

She frowned, squinting her eyes as she glanced toward the headstones. If someone would have asked Harry, he’d say she looked absolutely revolted. “It kills the excess… tissue, while keeping the plant itself alive until it can be used. It’s useless dead. The... blood is extracted and stagnates in the water. Just--” She turned her head, positively green in the face. “Could you do it, Harry? Harvest it, I mean-- I  _ can’t-- _ ”

What kind of plant was this?

He gulped. “I guess? What do I do?”

“Just don’t touch anything beside the herb-- the leafy part. I don’t know what will happen, or what it will do, but every tome I’ve read has been very adamant that there will be consequences and I--” She paused, frowning. A far-off haze drifted over her eyes. “I don’t want something to happen to you. I don’t like this, and everything in me is telling me that there  _ must _ be a reason no one grows this in shops and it isn’t sold anywhere, but Professor Sprout told me we  _ need _ this--”

Harry sighed. “I’ll be careful. Only touch the herb-- can do.”

She gave him a worried smile. “It’s like taking a normal plant by the roots, just… you can’t touch the roots.” 

He glanced over at the grave once more, taking in the image of the plant again. The dark red leaves of the parsley seemed to throb, the color lightening and darkening ever so slightly, completely and utterly alive. Sprawled across the grave and the ground were the strange, fleshy appendages made up of the bright red so reminiscent of freshly spilt blood. 

The jar of the strange liquid beside him, Harry sat down on the ground in order to get to work. He brought his hand slowly toward the herb’s leaves, to find that they curved ever so slightly toward his touch. His instant thought was to bring his hand back quickly on reflex, but he didn’t. His body seemed to ignore every instinct he had, simply resolving to follow his conscious thoughts.

Odd. Off, one might say, perhaps. 

He slowly reached his fingers out once more, barely grazing against the leaves. Like before, they yielded under his touch and leaned towards his fingertips. If Harry had to describe the tickling sensation of the plant, he would compare it to slightly damp velvet. The smell of iron was still overwhelming and reminded him of the strange, bloody roots of the plant that he should have been avoiding. His gaze trailed from the roots on the grave, down to the ground, when he realised something that should have been upsetting. 

They were right beside him, slowly inching through the grass toward his body.

He didn’t flinch. They were not moving quickly, but they were moving quite steadily. He shifted his body further away from the grave.  The roots continued their crawling pace.

He had to work quickly, then. Except, he soon realised, there was a problem. 

The roots were far too large to fit in the jar.

“Ginny--” He turned to her.

“W-what is it?” she stuttered, dragging her eyes away from the blood parsley.

“How am I supposed to fit this all in the jar?” 

She frowned. “Lure it in? The… bloody parts dissolve in water completely once it’s in, so it doesn’t take up any space. You just have to be patient.”

Harry eyed the bloody root inched slowly toward him.  _ Patient _ . 

He brought his hand down to the stem of the parsley and gripped it firmly, some liquid oozing out as his fingers clasped around it. Bringing the jar low to the ground, in front of the moving root, he waited. 

A terrible hissing sound erupted, a mix between a fire being doused and a snake striking. And the smell-- Harry heard Ginny gagging as she leaned against a tree. 

He wasn’t physically affected. He simply was  _ patient _ , as the plant mindlessly came to him and into the strange solution that would harness the dissolving roots. The liquid’s metamorphosis was not one of a caterpillar's to a butterfly’s, from the ugly duckling to the swan; quite the reverse, it shifted from something pure and untainted to the slight pink of blood in the water, and, finally, to a shade of unadulterated bloodshed. Worse yet, Harry thought, the plant was doing it willingly-- by its own instincts to seek out touch, he supposed.

It was slow work, but not as bad as Harry had first thought it would be. Ginny, however, seemed to have a different idea, barely being able to supervise his work.

“Sometimes I wonder what the muggles might think of something like this,” said Ginny, after having recovered, or at least gotten somewhat used to the stench.

He frowned. “They might be happy they were ignorant before and want to go back to those days.” 

Ginny’s face dropped and she looked down, away from Harry. “Is it better to have experienced something only for it to be removed from your life?”

Either the parsley roots or the liquid provided a continuous hiss in the background. The weeping willow’s branches picked up slightly as a breeze pushed them through the air, a wave of cold accompanying it.

Harry gulped. “Maybe. Maybe not. There’s no changing the past, though.”

Ginny let out a long sigh, her breath as heavy as the wind. She kicked a stone, watching it land in the dirt near the lake’s waters. 

The grass rustled slightly in the breeze, sound drowned out by the continuous hissing of blood parsley in the morning. 

Ginny walked over to the shoreline, picked up her stone, and skipped it across the water. 

Pat-- pat-- pat-- pat-- pat-- pat--  _ plunk-- _

Something wet and slimy latched onto the crease of Harry’s elbow like a leech, and his blood ran cold, quite literally. 

He tored his gaze away from Ginny down to his arm, where a bloody root lied. He turned his head slowly down to the jar, only to find it empty of anything but red liquid.

It had moved, and he could feel it doing  _ something-- _ his skin felt like it was being scraped, like knees on cement, not painful at first, but he was soon feeling raw--

He wrapped his fingers around the root in order to pull it off, but the more he pulled, the more his skin pressed against the wet slime of blood or  _ whatever it was.  _ It had no give and when Harry tried to withdraw his fingers, the root had attached itself to his skin on his digits like a second flesh, stretching like skin pulled from bone.

Pat-- pat-- pat-- pat-- pat-- pat--  _ plunk-- _

He looked on with dull eyes. No adrenaline coursed through his body, no sense of fight-or-flight. If anything, he felt lethargic. In his mind, the thought that something was wrong, very, very wrong, pressed forward logically, yet he couldn’t bring himself to react any more than he had.  

Looking hard at what the root was doing, he soon realised that in some spots, particularly where the root had had the most exposure, his skin had rubbed away, exposing bare flesh, and the root was writhing inside his inner forearm.

It stung. It was painful. He knew he should have been struggling more, but as he pulled, it stung and it stung, and his skin stretched, his flesh refusing to detach from its intruder in a perverse display of bodily stockholm syndrome.

Pat-- pat-- pat-- pat-- pat-- pat--  _ plunk-- _

He stopped.

Why was he even trying to struggle?

“I know this sounds cliche, but why does life have to be so cruel?”

Looking down at his arm, Harry sighed. “I guess life is, by nature, cruel.”

It was odd. He could no longer feel his lower arm, now. Had it destroyed his nerve endings? 

“Maybe so. I wish it wasn’t. I wish we could all just work with each other and get along, you know?”

Pat-- pat-- pat-- pat-- pat-- pat--  _ plunk-- _

He sighed again and leaned back on the ground, head hitting the grass. The weeping willow’s branches swayed above him. “I don’t think everyone wishes that. Not anymore.”

It made its way up to his bicep, writhing under his skin, burrowing into his flesh. Harry wondered what it would do when it got to his brain. Maybe he would just go to sleep. He was so, very awfully tired.

He blinked and several scenes flashed through his mind simultaneously. 

He saw  _ green--  _

Gold, molten swirls, darkening into shapes--

It moved so quickly, the outlines lasting not milliseconds--

His parents, Hermione, Ron, Luna, Sirius, Remus, Hagrid, Cassius--

_ Tom-- _

The shadows lightened, and the yellow burned bright as the sun, dipping into a bright veridian, deepening to the darkest of emeralds, sparkling like those of the locket--

A buzzing filled his ears, a long, steady tone.

His head felt fuzzy. He closed his eyes.

The lightest of whispers tickled his ears, scratching an itch he had been naive to previously. It felt  _ good _ . His body inadvertently thrashed in the grass.

“ _ Harry-- _ ” It felt as though someone was breathing in his ear.

“Harry--” Tom smiled. Genuinely. His eyes held no malice, no ill, hidden intent.

“I’m sorry.” His voice was velvet, dark, bloody red velvet. “If I had known-- I would have never dreamed of such a thing--

“Open your eyes for me, Harry.”

He opened his eyes slowly and a different haze flitted across his vision. He was moving-- he was crawling-- toward Ginny’s bag, by the tree, the roots attached to his arm like an umbilical cord--

Inside was another jar of the same clear liquid. He unscrewed the lid and allowed himself to drown in it.

He blinked and the haze was gone. The green of the grass under him now seemed so dull in comparison to what he had just seen-- no,  _ experienced _ \-- he  _ lived _ .

Most notably, replacing the buzz inside his head was an all encompassing hissing--

His arm was on fire.

“Fuck--” he yelled, the agony too overpowering.

Ginny turned around immediately and gasped at the image Harry now made. She rushed over, but stopped mid-step. 

“Harry…” she said in shock.

The root convulsed inside his arm, squirming against his flesh, attempting to desperately cling to him, but to no result. It was dissolving inside of him. His labored breathing almost drowned out the hissing of the solution meeting the flesh of the parsley disintegrating. 

Ginny gulped in front of him and steeled herself, closing her eyes, then reopened them before she walked over to him with purpose. When she reached him, she ignored his pained writhing in favor of rummaging through her backpack in search of something.

She emerged from her backpack with a pair of long gardening shears.

Turning her attention back to Harry, Ginny grabbed the discarded jar beside him.

“Harry, can you hold onto this?” she asked urgently, her eyes wide, but her tone even.

He grit his teeth, unable to get anything cohesive out besides, perhaps, an exclamation of pain, and nodded. She passed him the jar.

“Hold it toward the plant side of the root. I’m going to cut if off you.” She stared at him, searching for any sign of recognition.

He nodded once more and did as instructed.

Ginny brought the shears up to his arm, flush against his bare flesh, and his arm twitched at both the cold of the tool and the pain it elicited.

“One--”

“Two--”

“Three--”

When the shears fell and cut, it did not feel as though she was cutting some other living being, but Harry’s own muscle. “Agh--”

“Just hold on, Harry, this isn’t--” she stuttered, eyes wide. “This isn’t  _ you--  _ it’s the herb--”

He thrust the jar toward the end of the root that had been cut, leaving it to sit on the ground, before curling up in the fetal position in the grass.

Ginny stood over him. Her voice pleaded urgently, “Harry-- come here-- I have to get the rest out--”

He whimpered and writhed in pain.

Ginny glanced back at the plant in disgust, before looking back at Harry sadly. Her mouth opened, as if to say something more, but instead, she took a step back and turned, throwing the shears to the ground. She pushed through the branches of the weeping willow and began sprinting toward the castle.

 

* * *

 

For the next week, Harry spent his days in the medical wing. Nights too, of course. The mornings may have well been night, too, considering how much he slept-- better than spending them out behind the Black Lake in mortal peril.

Professor Sprout had paid him a visit with Ginny in tow, apologizing profusely, claiming she had never before witnessed the dangers of working with blood parsley. If she had known, she exclaimed, she would have “never in an entire millennia sent a student to their own certain death.”

He was off the hook due to both his and Ginny’s “quick-thinking” as Sprout had put it. The blood parsley had been able to be saved despite Ginny’s having to cut it out of Harry.

With all his pressing debts taken care of, all he had left to ponder while Madam Pomfrey drained the solution and lingering parsley root from his arm was either what had occurred or what lied ahead-- the Third and final Task of the Triwizard Tournament.

Neither, he found, were particularly good for his mental health.

The ambiguity of it all was eating away at him from the inside out. 

Was it all just a figment of his imagination? A hallucination brought on in a moment of complete and utter desperation for survival?

Except, for a long period of time, he acknowledged, it had almost been as if he wasn’t fighting for his survival at all. The thought unnerved him, made his fingers twitched at the thought of what could have happened. Was his spontaneous insight his own doing? His body’s own final gambit? Or had it been something else?

Had it been Riddle’s doing? His lingering presence?

Harry frowned. It couldn’t have been. Why would he try to keep him alive? Unless… he was still somehow attached to Harry’s body and didn’t want to risk it dying. Yet Cassius had outright exorcised Riddle from him-- he hadn’t even heard a single thought not his own. He felt the absence where Riddle had been in his consciousness. This should have been impossible.

It was his own imagination. It had to be. Riddle would never apologize. He would never--

Yet Harry could not help but entertain “what if’s”--

What if it had been Tom? If it had been… what had he meant by “if he had known?”

Apprehension was the only word for his emotions at that point. 

Once again, he was completely in the dark about the events surrounding his life, mere flickers of light flashing in his periphery vision, but whenever he turned, they would disappear. All he could do now, he supposed, was look forward, as much as he wished he didn’t have to-- forward, towards the time he would finally get out of the hospital wing, forward to the time he could prepare, and forward toward the final task.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on tumblr at https://thelastnero.tumblr.com/  
> I also have a kofi, if anyone is interested in showing their support for my writing <3 It's also linked on my tumblr.
> 
> Thanks for reading, commenting, and giving kudos everyone <3 You're all wonderful. Also! I posted a Christmas 2-shot (in progress). http://archiveofourown.org/works/13150785


	17. The Nearer the Bone, the Redder the Meat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! It's been a while, but I hope this long chapter makes up for it <3 School has been chaotic, but things have calmed down a bit now. This chapter was also just a pain in my ass in general to write, but after this we get to the real fun stuff ;).  
> Thanks to Maurey for betaing. Y'all should check out their work too, since they're on AO3~

I run away when things are good

And never really understood

The way you laid your eyes on me

In ways that no one ever could

And so it seems I broke your heart

My ignorance has struck again

I failed to see it from the start

And tore you open 'til the end

-Halsey, “Sorry” 

The weeks turned to months as Harry prepared for the third task with Cassius Warrington’s newfound help. While his magic had not stopped behaving sporadically and out of control, he found it could be curbed slightly by dissociation and putting less thought into spells than he normally did. It was far from ideal, but it would work until Dumbledore came forth with his mysterious solution that he had claimed would take months to acquire. Harry, however, by the end of June, was losing hope and faith in his headmaster’s supposed solution or perhaps even the man himself.

He sighed, standing in front of the entrance to the maze, hedges towering high above his head. His godfather held a hand on his shoulder, having been invited to see him off along with the other champions’ families. Cassius stood some distance away with a small, older woman Harry recognized from the Second Task, and a man with greying hair and a top hat who looked surprisingly disinterested, considering the event at hand. 

Cassius acknowledged Harry’s presence with a nod, averting his eyes towards the adults accompanying him, before glancing back toward Harry with worried eyes. Harry felt Sirius’ hand tighten. 

Krum stood tall next to his headmaster, not a single word being exchanged between the two of them. Harry couldn’t help but glare. In contrast, Fleur was busily chatting with her mother and younger sister, either out of her happiness at seeing them or pure anxiety built up for the final task.

Sirius whispered softly beside him. “You had better live through this, Harry. You hear me?” He looked down at Harry and the younger boy heard his Godfather’s voice nearly crack.

Harry nodded slowly. 

“Harry.”

He blinked and turned his head toward the voice that had called out from almost beside him. Sirius took a step forward in front of Harry. 

Cassius bit his lip, hands clenching each other behind his back, as he stood in front of Harry. Harry could see the narrowing eyes of Cassius’ guests behind him. 

His voice was an urgent whisper, barely audible over the excitement of the audience, its tone a startling contrast to the jovialness of Ludo Bagman and the other schools’ students. 

“Don’t touch the cup.” 

Harry blinked, confused. “What?”

“Don’t--” Cassius repeated, blue eyes shining under the glaring sunlight of June-- “Touch-- the cup.” 

“Up first is Harry Potter!” Ludo Bagman’s voice rang out loudly through his  _ Sonorus _ .

Sirius pulled Harry to the side, away from Cassius, who was left standing wide-eyed in the grass. Harry tried to look back, but as he was pulled to the entrance of the maze, the words could only echo within his head.

Harry was the first to enter the maze, with Cassius, Krum, and finally Fleur to follow. The hedges prevented him from seeing far, only straight paths and turns and intersections around him. There was no end in sight, no sense of direction, no beginning or middle or just nearly there--

He became very adept at running in the opposite direction should he have encountered any magical creature along his journey in the maze. Quickly, he formed a mental map of where each obstacle lied and where he had to go to avoid it. He didn’t want to chance his magic’s destructiveness-- although, he could admit, it might have worked out in his favor if he did, by accident, blow a hole through the hedges. 

He’d been walking, running, and escaping near death for what he estimated to be a half hour before the thought occurred to him. The hedges were some type of foliage, after all-- why wouldn’t fire destroy them? His legs carried him forward as he turned a hedge, and he deeply considered that idea. 

A cold chill came over him, despite the beating sunlight on his back. His heart thumped and nearly leapt out of his throat. 

There was a stark contrast between the creature in front of him and the bright, blue skies of summer and the celebrations outside and the lush green of new life--

It was not life, but death, this creature he was all too familiar with.

Its shadowy cloak and scaly, greyed fingers had all too nearly brought about his own death a year ago. But now, he knew how to handle it. He knew he could-- 

Or could he? With his previous determination in his thoughts, he threw caution to the non-existent wind and yelled the incantation.

“ _ Expecto patronum _ !”

The silvery mist erupted from his wand, revealing the sleek form of a crested bird with a sharply pointed tail-- a waxwing, he realised. Despite its small stature, the dementor was soon overcome. 

It returned to a strangely shaped box lying on the ground. A boggart. 

Harry blinked down at the box, uncertain if it was a good or a bad thing his boggart's form had not changed. What piqued his interest the most, as he glanced at his wand, was the lack of any recoil and side-effect as he cast the spell. The only moment where it might have benefited him to have an explosion of any sort and it does not occur-- his luck, most certainly. He shook his head and continued walking. 

From somewhere in the maze, a scream shrilled, stopping Harry in his tracks. It sounded… close. Involuntarily, he gulped. His eyes flickered above the tops of the hedges, waiting to see some traces of red sparks, somewhere. None appeared. 

With a glance backwards, he raised his wand and spoke the incantation softly. A volcano of red sparks shot into the air and he quickly left the area to avoid the judges’ thinking that is was  _ him _ that needed to be rescued from the task.

He was moving forward now, he knew that, according to his mental map of the maze. But how far exactly had he to go… he did not know. But did he even want to get to the cup anyways? Cassius’ urgent tone whispered in his mind, but something in his chest seemed to fight against the very concept of just giving up-- 

Voldemort wanted to kill him in this tournament, he was certain. Theoretically, he could just send up a shot of red sparks and be taken out of the maze at that very moment. But some part of him scathed at the idea of not winning-- of letting the tournament get the better of him. Imagine the Dark Lord’s face if he won the tournament he had sent him in to die--

He was the Boy Who Lived, after all. He’d survived worse than this. With that thought, he marched on with a new fervor.

He turned another corner, brushing past the green hedge without any finesse. Cassius said he would help, but why? He was just a Slytherin, after all-- probably looking out for his own hide, Harry thought, remembering the incident with Draco that had occurred. They never revealed their true intentions.

His nose twitched, fists clenching at the thought of Riddle. 

The path ahead of him now seemed a lot longer of a stretch than he had encountered previously within the maze and it made Harry curious. Several turns must have lied on that path, as the hedges seemed absent on some parts of the sides. He continued on, trainers padding against the dirt.

Suddenly, as he passed by an intersection, a hedge rustled with movement. Instinctually, Harry raised his wand at the disturbance.

Cassius came barrelling through, nearly running over Harry, who took a step back and nearly fell into the hedge as the older boy passed him. Harry looked around wildly, expecting something to be chasing Cassius, but found nothing. Before he could even think, his legs started sprinting after him on their own accord.

If anyone had been peeking in overhead, it might have appeared that Cassius was running away from Harry with the force of their running.

Harry himself couldn’t think but brief flashes of possibilities-- Cassius was trying to find the cup before him, he was running away from something--

Whatever it was, he would follow. 

He could run faster than Cassius, he knew that. The older boy was not built for agility and speed, but strength, and with Harry’s growth spurt, his legs could traverse far more ground with a single sprint. If Harry ever got into a physical fight with Cassius, he knew who would win-- but he was confident that he could win a  _ race _ . It would help if he knew where they were going, however.

Something in the air had chilled, a harsh breeze making the hedges shiver and rustle. 

Harry had nearly overtaken Cassius and was now running beside him, both of them panting as furiously as the other. He something glimmer on the horizon and knew the one thing it had to be. 

The blue of Cassius’ eyes refracted, his pupils dilated and wide as he met Harry’s gaze. His breath came out in heavy gasps. “Harry-- stop--”

The younger boy’s forehead furrowed, and he gave Cassius a bewildered appraisal. “I don’t--” pant-- “Know what the hell--” pant-- “Your deal is--” pant-- “But--”

His feet caught on something. The world flipped around him, the ground flying up where the sky had been previous, and Harry lost all sense of whether his body was facing upright or toward the ground. A grunt beside him indicated Cassius had also been tripped by whatever obstacle had obstructed their path. He looked up and found the Triwizard cup to be a mere meter away.

He tried to scramble forward, but a strong, calloused hand caught his ankle and pulled him back, scraping dirt against his red shirt.

“Harry, stop, you can’t--” Cassius breathed out under heavy breaths. He shook his head, exasperated. “Are you really this suicidal?” 

“What?” Harry shouted. The adrenaline coursing through his veins began to dissipate and his limbs felt heavy.

“You cannot touch the cup. Just let me do this,” Cassius urged. “It’s not like I’m worth much either way.” He stared intently down at Harry, hand still locked tightly around his ankle, preventing any sort of movement. 

Harry made an indignant sound. “I’m trying to survive, for once. You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?”

Cassius frowned, nose scrunching to create a thick line in his forehead. Hurt flashed in his eyes.

Harry kicked his leg in an attempt to loosen Cassius’ grip, but found the hand had loosened enough to let his foot escape. He stood with a backwards glance to the dirty blonde, who still remained sitting in the dirt. A dusty brown streak painted his face, still locked in the frowning expression it had been in before.

Harry turned his head and stepped forward, until he heard a dry voice call out. 

“I saved you once with what I Saw in my visions. Why can’t you trust me again?”

He halted his movement, midstep, stuck in the awkward in-between, his weight leaned forward. Cassius sighed behind him. 

The image of Myrtle’s bathroom flashed through his mind, the hands wrapped around his throat, bruising, aching-- 

The same hands that had latched onto his ankle seconds ago. Harry turned to look at Cassius.  Was he being unreasonable? After all… he had saved Harry with no reason apparent other than sheer altruism. As far as Harry knew, he meant well. But why else would he do so?

If Cassius had wanted to win the Triwizard Tournament that badly, it would have been easier to just leave Harry be-- possessed by Tom. Or would it have been? Tom, quite obviously, was a much better wizard than he. But did Cassius know who it was possessing him? He had been surprised after Harry had told him-- unless he  had been faking it.

When, Harry thought with a twinge, had he become so suspicious of everyone’s intentions?

“What would happen? If I touched the cup--” Harry said slowly.

Cassius blinked up at him, face downturned like a kicked puppy. “I Saw a graveyard. I-- I don’t know what happens, I just-- See things-- I can’t explain everything--”

Harry frowned. “How did you know I was possessed that first time?”

“I didn’t.” 

The words came as a surprise to Harry’s ears.

“I… Saw what you-- or rather, what  _ he-- _ was going to do. And--” Cassius sighed, bringing his eyes up to meet Harry’s. “Of all the things I’ve Seen, this was one thing I felt I could prevent from happening.”

Harry knew what his next words were going to be before Cassius even began to whisper them.

“The third and final time the Chamber of Secrets would have been opened. But, I noticed something was off with you first.”

_ Off _ .

“If you were innocent… Well. It was an easier explanation than ‘Harry Potter had suddenly gone dark.’ You, of all people,” Cassius paused, looking down at his hand. “You, of all people, would deserve some benefit of the doubt.”

Harry closed his eyes. The breeze swirling around them had picked up, a cold, tumultuous wind. 

He breathed in a deep breath and let it out with his words. “I won’t go after it.”

Cassius blinked dumbly at him, before his lips quirked ever slightly. Harry held a hand out to the older boy, who took it and rose to his feet. 

“Can you do the spell? For the both of us?” Harry inquired. “Someone will win by default, but I’d rather survive this than win and… I don’t know. Whatever you saw would happen.”

Cassius beamed and nodded, raising his wand. “ _ Pericu-- _ ”

Out of the hedge, a spark shot towards Cassius, smashing him to the ground, fire catching on his robes. He let out a yell and slurred a rushed  _ Aguamenti _ , but it was too late--

The fire leapt from his robes to the surrounding hedges, racing along the edges of the maze to surround them. Once the flames had reached the source of the spark, Krum fell out of the hedge and onto his knees on the ground. Harry and Cassius exchanged bewildered looks. 

Krum rose to his feet with an almost inhuman fervor, grabbed Cassius by the wrist, and ran forward straight toward Harry, who couldn’t dodge the tackle nor prevent his back from colliding with the cold, hard metal of the cup. The maze of flames spun around him and the world set-aflame twisted into the darkness.

 

* * *

 

Harry fell to the ground with a loud  _ oomph _ that seemed to echo, until he realised it was simply the body below him that had made a similar noise.

"No--"

He opened his eyes to find the world blurry-- his glasses had fallen off in the scuffle, he realised. Rolling off the body below him, he began feeling around for them.

"Really, Krum?" came the voice Harry distinguished as Cassius’, hoarse and raspy. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised." A sigh.

A hmmph came from the opposite direction. Harry's hands, skimming through the blades of dry grass, finally landed upon something hard-- two somethings. One had the distinct outline of the frames of the object he was seeking. Harry reached out and placed his glasses back on his head, and blinked. The world came back into focus with a nauseating amount of clarity.

They were in a graveyard, that much was certain. Harry sat in the grass, centimeters away from a headstone, while Cassius laid on the ground with Krum pointing a wand at his throat.

A strange feeling tugged at Harry's chest and he gulped down a lump in his throat. It was settled, then.

If only he had trusted Cassius from the very beginning. He couldn't help thinking of what he was coming to, how this past year had influenced him to come to a point where he couldn't even distinguish between who was trustworthy and who was not.

His hands were trembling as Krum slowly turned his head toward him. Cassius' eyes followed Krum to Harry, before Cassius sprung forward and tackled Krum to the ground. They wrestled, a jumble of limbs, both seemingly forgetting they had wands on their persons.

With that thought, Harry felt for his own wand and found it safely inside his robe pocket. He could, theoretically, help, if he could aim correctly. Yet-- his stomach twinged at the thought of his magic backfiring, going out of control to somehow miss, or worse yet, hurt Cassius instead--

Harry looked around, trying to find perhaps  _ something else _ he could use to help, but only headstone after headstone littered the graveyard, as per expected. Unlike the graveyard of Godric's Hollow, however, this one seemed more sinister than peaceful, its overgrown roots and headstones more ruins than remembrances. The memory of the headstones on Hogwarts' grounds came to mind and Harry could almost feel the blood pumping through his veins, his arm suddenly sore at the mere thought of what had occurred.

His heart started beating rapidly on its own accord, faster and faster, until he could have sworn it was audible to everyone in the area. He tore his attention away from his immediate surroundings to notice a figure on the horizon, slowly approaching.

His breath left his lungs.

It was a tall figure, cloaked in black, a shadow on the setting sun, descending a hill with something wrapped in its arms. It held it with such a care, it almost seemed to be cradling it in reverence.

Krum and Cassius did not notice as the figure neared closer and closer.

Harry might have done something, had a sudden excruciating pain not overtaken him. His scar burned and throbbed, melting down his face, worse than anything he had experienced yet in his life. He clutched his face and a yell ripped its way out of his lips.

"Harry?!" Cassius' attention was caught for a moment, before an incantation was shouted in the air.

" _ Incarcerous _ !"

Harry heard a grunt, from who, he couldn't quite tell and could only guess, if he hadn't been so caught up in the pain he was experiencing.

The tall figure had reached them now, the bundle in its arms becoming clearer-- it was... a baby? Harry's vision was so blurred, he couldn't make out any details, but the shape could only be that of an infant.

The figure drew a wand and Harry's heart skipped a beat as it levitated the bundle into the air. It hovered, even when the figure began to point the same wand at Harry instead. Another figure stood off to the side now, Harry realised as he blinked away the pain. Krum. But that would mean...

The figure currently writhing on the ground had to be Cassius. Futilely, he struggled. Harry took a step back as the unidentified figure stepped closer in a manner Harry could only associate with that of a predator. He began to look from side to side, pulling his wand out, but realised his mistake as soon as his back had hit a hard, marble headstone of a particularly extravagant size. He turned to look behind him before his eyes widened in shock at the name inscribed.

Tom Riddle.

_ No. No. How _ was this possible?

Harry drew a shaky breath, on the verge of hyperventilating, when he felt his arms suddenly pull flush to the gravestone and thick cords of course rope wrap around his arms and legs, leaving no space between him and the grave. His wand fell to the ground.

Whereas once he had been saved by Tom, or perhaps, the memory of Tom, or Harry didn't even quite know, now, on his grave, by sheer coincidence, Harry would be restrained and who knew what else would happen. The irony of it sickened him.  _ Harry  _ felt sick.

The figure dropped its hood and revealed a handsome, yet utterly deranged face, smiling in a way that could not be of assured glee for what had already happened, but for what was yet to come, Harry was certain.

His face looked familiar, but Harry could not place it. It bothered him immensely, but the man's facial features struck a chord in his mind. 

He'd seen him before,  _ somewhere _ .

The figure had reached a cauldron set up in the middle of the graveyard, right in front of Harry and the grave of Tom Riddle. As he neared Harry, the younger boy could hear mumbled words speaking hurriedly, almost reverently in worship.

"...the Dark Lord shall rise again..." his breath was heavy, as if he had just run for days on end to get where they were now.

The two figures on the ground, who had ceased their fighting as soon as the man drew near, caught his attention, seemingly. Cassius had frozen in what seemed like shock, while Krum stood on his knees, face blank.

"You-- you're supposed to be dead--" sputtered Cassius. "You  _ are  _ dead."

The man smiled in amusement, his face contorting, skin splitting into thick lines on his forehead and the corners of his mouth. 

He licked his lips before speaking. "It's good to see you again, Cassius. Your father had been wondering how you'd turn out."

Horror struck Cassius' face. "You really are Barty Crouch."

Harry's mind blanked. Barty Crouch-- except, that wasn't Crouch. He was far too young. Yet as he studied the man's face, the similarities between the two men's facial features were uncannily similar. Did Crouch have a son? His brow furrowed. He just couldn't remember.

Barty Crouch-- if that was his name-- was frowning. "I am not my father's son. I--" he paused-- "Was meant for greater things."

A strong sense of deja-vu flooded Harry and he reminded himself exactly whose grave he was currently bound to.

Cassius looked down at a tree root that peeked up from the ground.

"And so are you, Cassius."

"My father-- how is he?"

Barty smiled. "You don't know, already?"

Cassius flinched.

Barty noticed. "I haven't been in Azkaban for twelve years, Cassius. He was as worse off as anyone. I do not know how he is now."

"You-- you didn't die. You escaped," Cassius said in realisation.

"When my dear mother visited me all those years ago, it was not I that died in Azkaban, but her. The dementors could not tell the difference and I left with my father. Little did I know he would attempt to keep me under house arrest for the rest of my life." His smile had dropped and a piercing fervor grew in his eyes. "Twelve years, until I would escape his clutches."

A wave of dread overcame Harry. Crouch Senior-- the same man that he had helped become minister, the same man who would imprison his son? A criminal, yes, but-- Harry wasn't quite sure if the dementors, from his own experiences and Sirius' testimony, would be better or worse than betrayal by one's own family. Although, he supposed he knew all about that.

There was a question in the back of his mind, however, asking what exactly Crouch Junior had done to get into Azkaban.

Barty sneered as he glanced over at Harry. "All thanks to our Master's worst enemy, of all people."

Harry attempted to clear his throat weakly. "W-what?"

He realised a second after he spoke the prominent ‘our’ in Crouch’s sentence, and his stomach tugged nervously. No-- Cassius couldn’t be--

"Winky was loyal to my mother first, and only then my father. When I told her my mother, when she was alive, would have wanted him to grant me more freedom, well-- it was quite easy for her to steal your wand."

"You were the one to conjure the Dark Mark," Harry said firmly.

"It was magnificent. The Dark Lord was most pleased to see it in person once more."

That-- no. Voldemort couldn't have been at the World Cup. They'd known Voldemort was up to something, but... that was too close for comfort. Crouch Junior was just insane from all those years in Azkaban and in isolation. He was desperate. 

None of this made any sense.

The bundle levitating in the air thrashed about and Harry's scar pulsed in agony once more. He grit his teeth to keep from yelling out in pain.

"Barty..."

It was hoarse, a bare, high-pitched whisper in the wind, but the name spoken was unmistakable. It had come from the bundle.

Barty rushed over to the object-- the voice-- whatever was inside it, whether it was a person or otherwise-- and began mumbling apologetically. "I am sorry, my lord. We shall begin the ritual."

Ritual?

It was then that Harry realised that perhaps he hadn't been meant to die during the tournament. Then that would mean-- His eyes flitted toward Krum and Cassius, then back toward Crouch Junior who was kneeling now before the cauldron, fiddling with something that only made Harry's nerves worse. If he was right, then he should know where everyone stood now--  _ should.  _ Except-- he glanced back toward Cassius, specifically, whose eyes met his momentarily. Cassius' head twitched ever so slightly.

"It is ready, my lord."

Harry flinched. Fuck. What could he do? He twisted his head around wildly, unable to move his torso or arms due to the magical restraints holding him against the gravestone. Assuming Cassius would help him, they might be evenly matched. Well, actually, maybe not-- a bound teenager and an upperclassmen against a quidditch star trained in the dark arts and... an Azkaban escapee capable of who knew what?

And would Cassius even help him to begin with? Whose side was he even on?

He watched as Barty lowered the bundle of blankets, holding it in his hands as if it were sacred, and slowly peeled back the layers like a baby onion. A fleshy, pink shrivel of a small human-- was it even human?-- was unveiled and Harry felt himself grow nauseous.

The cauldron bubbled in the background as Barty smiled down at the twisted homunculus like it was his own child he was holding in his arms. He took a step toward the cauldron and Harry drew a deep breath.

Barty lowered it deep into the mixture brewing, a hiss spitting as the flesh hit liquid.

_ Drown _ , Harry thought.  _ Drown _ , please, let it  _ drown _ ... He swallowed hard and, as he blinked, several images flashed in his vision of the event in the Black Lake when Riddle had possessed him. If only  _ he _ had drowned--

"What are you doing?"

Barty ignored Cassius, sighing. Cassius had sat up by then, but by the glare Krum was currently giving him, Cassius wasn't going to be doing anything that could possibly aid either of them anytime soon.

However, Barty did begin speaking, although not to anyone in particular it seemed. His voice was hushed, reverent in its awe, it seemed. He raised his wand. "Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son!"

The ground below Harry's feet began to crack, the dirt sinking into the Earth as if opening to swallow him whole, yet he remained strapped to the grave of Tom Riddle.

Slowly, as Harry peered down into the grave, he saw a bunch of grey dust float out and toward the cauldron.

Bone of the father. Those were ashes.

Tom Riddle was Voldemort's father.

His stomach twisted and convulsed, and complete and utter shame and disgust took hold of him. What was wrong with him? Why, why, why-- All of the dreams, the trust he-- he couldn't even justify any of it. There was something wrong with him.

"Flesh of the servant--" a heavy, shaky breath, as if overwhelmed at the mere prospect of what was to happen next. Harry looked up to see Crouch Junior drawing his wand back to himself, pointing it at his own arm. "Willingly and enthusiastically given. You shall revive your master."

Wordlessly, he moved his wand across his wrist and Harry couldn't look away as he saw the skin break, and the bone split as blood spilled from where Crouch's hand used to be. There was a splash in the cauldron but all Harry could focus on was Crouch himself.

Barty took a deep breath, not out of nerves, seemingly, but-- Harry didn't want to think about it. If he wasn't so disgusted with himself, he might have taken it upon himself to judge Crouch, but he figured he was in no position to.

Maybe everyone was completely and utterly wrong, in their own way.

Barty closed his eyes and started humming vacantly, taking breath after breath until his breathing steadied and he appeared to be in almost a trance-like state.

The graveyard was dead quiet, aside from the bubbling of the cauldron. Krum and Cassius did not stir. Harry couldn't even hear his own breathing.

Crouch Junior opened his eyes and turned them on Harry, stepping closer and closer until he was upon him, beside the very grave of Voldemort's father-- of Tom Riddle, Harry's mind scathingly reminded him once more. Barty glared at the grave in distaste, before his eyes flicked back up to Harry, gaining a malevolent glint within them. He hummed as his hand retreated within his robes, before it fished out an object--

A knife.

"Blood of the enemy." Harry couldn't move as Crouch gripped his wrist and cut open his sleeve. "Unwillingly taken. You will resurrect your foe. _At_ _last_ ," he whispered shakily.

Ever since the incident at the Black Lake with the blood parsley, the feeling in Harry's left arm had slightly dulled. He imagined he might have yelled out, had a knife plunged into his arm before, but now, it was only a slight sting as Crouch collected his blood for the ritual. The pain as the man flicked his blood off the knife and into the bubbling mixture, however, was astronomical-- almost on par with the pain blossoming in his scar. He grit his teeth, seething.

It didn't help.

The liquid within the cauldron turned a blinding white, shining as bright as a diamond and glittering just as much. Sparks emanated from it, until a white fog emerged above the cauldron. As the mist faded, Harry's heart clenched as hard as his scar, his hands shaking. The vague outline of a tall, skeletally thin figure appeared clearer and clearer as the fog faded away, until there was no longer a veil over his eyes and the man was clear in his sight.

Lord Voldemort had risen again.

"Robe me."

Barty, who had remained standing, was now grinning fondly as he rushed to dress his master in a pure, black robe. Voldemort began examining his body.

He was deathly pale-- a tone Harry had never before seen on the living, although he wasn't quite sure the man-- whatever he was-- could be called living. Voldemort felt the robes for his wand, before slowly extracting it from a pocket. The wood was as gnarled as that of the yew trees residing in the graveyard they were presently in.

"Barty..." his voice was high, yet barrenly cold and dry, dragging like winter into spring. Barty plunged himself to the ground instantly, kneeling with his head down, seemingly ignoring the constant running of red from his stump wrist.

"My lord."

"Give me your arm."

Barty brought his arm with his remaining hand to his face, biting the sleeve of his robe and drawing it back to bare his naked flesh before his master. The dark mark tattooed his skin.

"Your other arm." Voldemort was smiling softly.

Barty gazed at Voldemort in disbelief, before thrusting his stump wrist toward him. Voldemort caressed his wand once more, still smiling to himself, before waving it over Barty's wrist. A mass of silvery-grey metal formed, before molding itself into the shape of a pure silver hand.

Barty breathed out as if he had been holding his breath. "Thank you, my lord."

"Now,  your other arm."

When presented with the dark mark once more, Voldemort’s face twisted, his graceful, serpentine features that were oddly smooth, becoming harsh and painful to set one’s eyes upon-- so very reminiscent of the face Harry had seen two years ago, in the Chamber of Secrets. Like father, like son, he cringed.

Voldemort did not hesitate or dally. His skeletally long finger pressed against Barty’s mark in an instant, like a snake striking its prey, and it was Harry’s body reacting as if it had just been struck.

He let out a yell involuntarily as an intense pain bled across his face, born from his throbbing scar.

The mark, slightly faded, re-inked itself a heavy black on Barty’s skin. 

Harry ceased yelling, but the pain remained, pilfering through the silence. His ears were buzzing, or maybe they weren’t. His head ached so much that he couldn’t tell. 

He didn’t quite realise it when Voldemort came upon him, until the pain throbbed harder and his eyes opened on their own accord, chin raising to meet the other man’s eyes like fingers were lifting it.

Voldemort seemed maliciously pleased to meet Harry’s gaze.

“You stand, Harry Potter, on the remains of my late father.”

He gulped involuntarily. It was true. Revulsion flooded him and if he could have cringed backward, he would. However, he knew now absolutely that doing so would only bring him closer to the grave of the man that-- that possessed him, physically, mentally, emotionally, and, almost self-righteously, spiritually. 

“A muggle and a fool, like your dear mother. But they both had their uses, did they not?”

Wait. No-- something wasn’t adding up. Tom Riddle wasn’t a muggle. He had been a wizard. Harry had seen him all those years ago in the Chamber of Secrets. He had been a student at Hogwarts-- a Slytherin.

Harry swallowed a lump down his throat, and tried to open his lips to speak, but found his mouth full of cotton. 

His thoughts raced through his head, out-shouting Voldemort’s words, until a phrase brought him back to the present moment.

“...My father lived on that hillside. My mother, a witch, fell in love with him. But he abandoned her when she told him what she was... He didn’t like magic, my father…

“He left her and returned to his Muggle parents before I was even born, Harry, and she died giving birth to me, leaving me to be raised in a Muggle orphanage... but I vowed to find him... I revenged myself upon him, that fool who gave me his name... Tom Riddle...” 

It did not suck the life out of Harry, nor his pride, nor his motivation. All his will had been what was leached away, as if he was no longer the main inhabitant of his body. Yet he knew that it couldn’t be the diary, no longer. He was alone with himself, his soul simply shrivelling into a husk inside of him.

He was the fool.

Lord Voldemort  _ was _ Tom Riddle. He  _ is _ Tom Riddle. 

Harry wanted to throw up, all the memories rushing through his head, bringing their emotions with him-- the suspicion, the hatred, the trust, the admiration, the pleasure, the betrayal, the contempt-- It was simultaneous. He stared in horror at Voldemort. 

Voldemort narrowed his scarlet eyes and took a step back. 

“How sentimental I have become, at this moment in time.”

Except when you spent all your time plotting, one couldn’t help but think of the past. That, Harry thought, was what Tom might say.

He was disgusted with himself.

“ _ But look _ , Harry. My true family returns  _ now-- _ ”

 

A pain blinded Harry, matching the revulsion in his gut, the ache in his chest, and the fatigue of his brain. Only the flashing of white and smoky black danced across his vision, along with the sound of winds whooshing through the graveyard, through the gnarled branches of the old yews, until it was perfectly silent. 

Wizards were apparating into the graveyard. A circle enclosed the gravestone Harry was bound to.

He wondered what would have happened if he had just let him keep possessing him. If Cassius hadn’t made it in time, or hadn’t known any better. His eyes flickered to the side at the older boy, finding him searching the circle haphazardly as if he knew someone that should have been there. 

“Welcome, my Death Eaters. Thirteen years, it has been. And yet you answer my call like it was but yesterday.”

Harry should have known. But that was all he got nowadays for trusting people. A stab in the back with smiles on their faces. The end of a republic and the beginning of an empire.

“Still united under the Dark Mark, are you not? I confess myself… disappointed.”

The fear within the circle was palpable. It matched the feeling Harry was so familiar with, but now, was so beyond. He didn’t know if the receptors in his brain were capable of it anymore, having been so burdened previously. This was nothing, he thought bitterly.

“The stench of guilt is strong in the air.”

Harry wondered if Voldemort could actually smell the emotion now. His nose was snake-like enough, he wouldn’t have been surprised.

“You all, healthy, powerful wizards-- where we you, who pledged their loyalty those years ago? Those who knew the steps I had taken to reach my power-- the precautions I had taken to guard myself against the weakness of mortal death? How could they not know I would return once more?

“My most faithful…”

“My lord!” A man threw himself at Voldemort’s feet. “Please forgive us!”

“ _ Crucio _ !” 

Harry couldn’t tear his eyes away. So similar the man’s body contorted like that of a spider, dead, limbs curling and retracting.

“Get up, Avery,” he spoke softly. “You want forgiveness? Thirteen years, I was abandoned. Thirteen years of repayment is what is due. With some exception. Our Barty has already proven himself, has he not?” Voldemort smiled, looking toward Crouch Junior who stood closest to him in the circle.

Most of the circle appeared shocked upon realising who exactly Voldemort had pulled out.

“Never once did he falter. Why, you all believed him to be dead, did you not? Much like myself, he is--”

Crouch Junior seemed to revel in the comparison, not cockily, but as if he was completely overwhelmed even standing near Voldemort--

“ _ Very much alive _ . The first wizard to ever escape Azkaban. His weak mother’s dying wish, to see her son free, granted by a man otherwise traitorous to his own blood--”

The man Harry had helped into the role of Minister, no less--

“Bartemius Crouch Senior. To lay his filthy name upon my most loyal. He exchanged Barty with his mother in Azkaban, and when she died, the dementors were unable to tell the difference. A body inhabiting his cell died-- Barty Crouch was as good as dead and pronounced as such. Back in London, his mother would die soon following. Except it was not his mother who left Azkaban that day.

“Twelve years, almost as long as I have been seeking my renewal, Barty had been trapped and imprisoned by his father. The worst tragedy known to wizarding-kind, pure blood wasting away. If you had known, how would you have aided your fellow wizard?”

Voldemort didn’t seem to expect an answer, but the guilt he claimed to have smelt was now more visibly apparent in his audience than ever. 

“Yet never did he cease his devotion, despite his father’s treachery. How we would come to find one another again…” He smiled, as if reminiscing fondly. 

“The ministry, upon a routine collection of documents, had visited the Crouch residence and a woman by the name of Bertha Jorkins overheard dear Barty and a house elf speaking to one another about an upcoming event at the time. You may be able to remember it as… the Quidditch World Cup. It seemed my dear Barty had been planning to escape when his father was to bring him to the event, and would attempt to search for his master following so. While he hadn’t revealed such to the house elf, Miss Jorkins was able to determine who he was and attempted to escape to inform the ministry, but the older Crouch altered her memory. Yet when Miss Jorkins was on holiday to Albania, the very country I had retreated to in order to gain power, I recognized her importance and was able to extract the information out of the delicate ruins of her mind, dismantled as it was. You can only imagine my surprise upon finding out Barty was alive.

“I possessed Bertha and used her position to amass resources following her holiday. I approached Barty at the World Cup and we hatched the plan necessary for my return. It was to be perfect.

“Until the mess that was the riots occurred. I, truly, am ashamed of what occurred. Tell me, Lucius, was it...  _ fun _ ?” He had turned to a man with long, platinum blonde hair that Harry recognised all too well.

Lucius Malfoy was a Death Eater. Who would have guessed? 

The man attempted to keep his shoulders steady to not cower before the Dark Lord.

“Tell me, if you were so willing and able to engage in the torture of muggles, were you not able enough to seek out your master? And when Barty conjured the Dark Mark, did you not flee?”

Harry blinked rapidly, the image of Cedric falling to the ground on top of him flashing across his vision. He could still feel the weight, the warmth of his flesh unnerving as his muscles went limp and his eyes rolled to the back of his head.

“My lord, if I had heard a whisper of your return--” Lucius spoke hurriedly in a hushed voice.

“But you did, dear Lucius. Was it not you I spoke to, that day?”

Lucius did not say a word. 

Voldemort spoke in his ever-present hissed drawl, that was only now reminding Harry of the way Tom Riddle had always spoken to him, in his head or otherwise. His heart ached, for some reason. “I understand your hesitance, given your position in the ministry. However, I expect better of your service now that I have returned.” 

“Of course… Thank you, my lord, you are most merciful…”

Voldemort turned his attention away from Lucius to an empty space in the circle. 

“The Lestranges should stand here, yet they now stand in Azkaban, rather than betray their master.”

He passed by two men, acknowledging each as Crabbe and Goyle, before coming upon another empty space. He looked on amusedly, before turning his head to look to the side of Harry. 

He was looking at Cassius, Harry soon realised. 

“And here would be Selwyn, also incarcerated, yet for unknown reasons. Nary was there an incident such as the torture of the Longbottom family, but silence.” He turned to the Death Eaters once more. “Tell me, do the screams of traitors echo louder than the denial of the future? Does yelled affirmation supercede a refusal to speak of either side?

“Perhaps one day, his position will be filled once more. There was once a time in the height of our power where young wizards might come to receive the mark at as young as sixteen. Our return to power will be slow, but steady in these days of secrecy we shall uphold the following years, but I assure you of this: One day, we will return to that era.”

Cassius was trembling, ever so slightly. Those further away wouldn’t have been able to see it, it was so slight, but Harry saw it. 

“Until we may return to it, might we invite Selwyn’s son to warm his place?” 

The circle gave neither assent nor dissent in response. Voldemort flicked his wand in a lazy, graceful motion and Cassius was unbound. He held a hand out, beckoning him forward. Krum, who sat beside Cassius, had a blank expression on his face.

Cassius rose to his feet.

A cold dread seeped through Harry’s body like cold lake water.  It occurred to him then the exact odds of his escaping this graveyard. For some reason, however, he couldn’t bring himself to be nervous. His hands were shaking, yes, and he felt the adrenaline flooding his veins, but mentally, the state of calm he was in could have rivalled any other calm he had ever experienced.

Cassius stood between Crabbe and Avery, his short height making him seem so much younger than seventeen, an adult in the wizarding world. He looked like a child trapped in an adult’s body. This wasn’t right. 

Yet Cassius looked on firmly, as if he thought he was meant to be there-- as if he belonged. The dirt smudging his face matched the bedraggled expressions of those in the circle, arranged hurriedly, as if the world was ending. To Harry, it might as well have been. The scene was an apocalypse waiting to happen. He half expected the graves to start stirring and the dirt to start crumbling as hands ripped there way to the surface.

Voldemort turned in the circle one more. “And here, we have six missing. Three, dead in service. Two, currently in Hogwarts. My most faithful and one wizard only barely alive. Igor Karkaroff’s abandonment will take long to be forgiven, but it is due to him, in part, that I have returned to you now. ”

Harry glanced toward Krum, who still sat blank-eyed. Looking closer, he appeared thinner than Harry had last remembered him.

“Why, who else would have placed Harry Potter’s name in the Goblet of Fire and ensured his most timely arrival to my resurrection party? Let us not forget,” Voldemort raised his voice and as he turned toward Harry, the younger boy caught a wicked amusement present in his eyes. “Our guest of honor, Harry Potter! The Boy Who Lived to resurrect his foe once more.”

All eyes turned to Harry.

“What happened that night, all those years ago, dear Harry?” 

Harry swallowed hard and frowned, not bearing to meet Voldemort’s stare. Hadn’t Tom called him similar? Why was he still so hung up on him, still so fixated on  _ Tom--  _

_ Tom, Tom, Tom-- _

The boy in his head, the boy who was the will in his veins, who saved his life, who almost took over his life, the boy in the mirror, the boy who was the dream upon dream in his nights--

_ Tom Riddle-- _

How did one person become such a monster? He wasn’t sure which was more terrifying: the inhuman figure before him now, with hate and malignity and cruelty visibly apparent in every step he took, or the soft charm of the boy in the Chamber, who might have whispered words that would cause Harry to hang his own noose, had he asked?

“A miscalculation is what that night had been. You all know I lost both my power and my body that night when I tried to kill the child, but how?” 

Voldemort had stepped closer to Harry, standing on the crumbled ground beneath the grave. Everywhere he looked, Harry could see the deathly white of Voldemort’s face. He could not turn his head.

“His mother died in an attempt to save him-- and unwittingly, provided with a protection I had not foreseen… I could not touch the boy.”

His heart throbbed rapidly in his chest, but something felt wrong. He’d heard the story secondhand so many times, yet… to hear it from Voldemort’s mouth was different. Unsettling.

“Traces of her sacrifice lingered… Old, old magic it was. I should have remembered then. I was foolish to overlook it… but it does not matter anymore. I…” 

Voldemort raised a skeletal finger to Harry’s jaw and barely grazed the skin.

“... _ Can touch you now.” _

The tip of his finger was so, so cold, yet it burned with an unimaginable heat, like his skin was being burned by fiendfyre and a hard nail was twisting in the wound. Harry bit his lip to keep from yelling out and the tang of iron hit his tongue. As quickly as the finger touched him, it had retracted, like Voldemort had just touched a hot stove. The twitch accompanying the reflex was ever so slight, but  _ it was there.  _

Voldemort’s mask of glee was now painted with confusion, but only for a mere second, before returning to its previous state. He turned to his Death Eaters.

“My curse may have been deflected, but I have arisen from the ashes, to be stronger than ever before. One boy will not be my downfall. No longer.”

His words, previously the hiss of a serpent, soft and eerily unassuming, were now a vicious bite.

Harry blinked in realisation, and looked down toward the man’s hand that had just touched him. The white of his skin, so bright in the summer moonlight, was charred on a single fingertip. 

Voldemort had been just as harmed as he. He had lied. He could  _ not  _ touch him-- at least without being harmed as much as Harry. But what had made him think he could? Taking Harry’s blood in the ritual? Whatever it was, something had occurred that was not according to Voldemort’s plan. But what was it?

“You will see now how foolish it is to think Lord Voldemort could be defeated by a mere child, that he could ever be my equal in power. I will ensure there is no mistake in any of your minds as to who is superior. There will be no lucky escapes, no Dumbledore to aid him, and no mother to sacrifice herself for him this time. He will be allowed to fight with the fullest strength of his ability. 

“Untie him, Barty. Hand him his wand.”

Barty stepped toward the grave and muttered a quick  _ finite incantatem _ , reaching down to the ground to grab Harry’s wand. As he handed Harry his wand back, the look in his eyes made Harry shiver. Harry looked past Barty as he stepped off to the side, back into the circle, and his eyes met Cassius’.  He wasn’t sure if his face expressed sympathy or pity.

He was alone. Harry was all alone in this. 

He wondered what would happened if he ran, but the idea was quickly banished from his head. There were almost thirty Death Eaters standing before him now. Thirty-one wands able to be used against him, wands that actually worked and wouldn’t recoil at the simplest spell. 

Or perhaps, he could use that to his advantage. His eyes flickered toward the Triwizard cup. It was far off, rows and rows of graves away. He would be caught.

“You have been taught how to duel, I presume?” 

Voldemort was addressing him and before he could stop himself, his eyes flickered back to see a  _ red  _ that glinted in the darkness. 

Memories of the pathetic duelling club in his second year came to mind, as well as the incident with the snake that had occurred then.  _ Duelling. _ He was comfortable enough with it, thanks to Remus, but against Lord Voldemort? He didn’t know what would protect him now.

“We bow to one another, Harry. Come, the niceties must be observed… Dumbledore wouldn’t want you to be  _ rude… _ ” Voldemort spat. “Bow to death, Harry.”

As the Death Eaters laughed, Harry felt his spine curve without his consent. Voldemort was smiling. It made Harry sick to his stomach.

“Good, Harry… now… Straighten your back and face me like a man… Just like your father did…” 

Harry’s face flushed and he couldn’t help but stand straight, if only just to glare at Voldemort. The action only seemed to amuse him further, and the laughter in their audience began once more.

“And now… we duel.”

“ _ Crucio _ .”

All he saw was a wand pointed at him, before a feeling almost as painful as when Voldemort had touched him overcame Harry. He fell to his knees in an instant, but the pain disappeared almost as soon as he had hit the ground. He had screamed, he realised, but registered only afterward as his brain felt like it was being torn apart by its seams. He blinked and look back up at Voldemort, gritting his teeth. 

He looked absolutely furious, but only for a millisecond, before smiling, his teeth sharp and white.

“That hurt, didn’t it?” As his eyes bore deep into Harry’s, a wave of dread wafted over the younger boy. This felt so very wrong. His gut clenched and squirmed inside his body.

_ “Answer me--”  _ Voldemort pointed his wand at him once more-- _ “Imperio--”  _

Seeing Voldemort’s anger, for some reason, made Harry angry beyond any reasonable measure. What gave him the right, when it was Harry on the ground, Harry at the end of the man’s wand? 

He felt the urge to simply keep laying on the ground, to let the word ‘ _yes’_ graze his lips, but he _would_ _not obey--_

He placed his hands firmly on the dried grass beside him and pushed himself up to sit. “ _ I won’t--”  _ His teeth were grinding against each other.

Voldemort’s eyes narrowed. “You won’t?” he hissed. The Death Eaters had stopped laughing.  _ “You won’t?” _ His voice raised and chills ran down Harry’s back.

His eyes flicked toward the Triwizard cup once more. Voldemort followed his eyes and frowned. His eyes burned through Harry’s forehead and he felt himself nearly paralyzed.

Voldemort stalked forward, his black robes brushing against his pale, bare feet, padding against the earth. Harry could not move as the man appeared directly in front of him, close enough to touch-- so easy it would have been to close the distance. Voldemort was looking down at him now, he could feel it, yet he could not bring his eyes upward, lost in the abyss of the black before him. The dull of the graveyard had blurred past, drowned out and unimportant. He couldn’t steady his gaze nor focus his vision.

A cold finger brushed under his chin, impossibly light. 

He could he his breath catch in his throat, his heart beating in his chest against the silence of his surroundings. His hand shook, loosening his grip on his wand. 

The finger pushed, lifted his chin so he was forced to look upward at the man who had influenced his life from its very beginning, and perhaps, now, its very ending. He blinked at the sensation of the touch. It almost didn’t register, as if it wasn’t truly there and Voldemort had simply moved his head by sheer power of will. But no, the long, skeletal finger… Harry could focus his eyes now, and it was clear at the bottom of his vision.

He looked back up at Voldemort’s face, the sharp bones and serpentine features sliding across his vision as he sought out those red eyes once more, looking on in confusion.

The corner of Voldemort’s lipless mouth twitched. He knew exactly what Harry was thinking. Harry was sure of it. But why was the pain, so debilitating, so excruciating minutes before… absent without a trace now? He shuddered at the horror of it--

Perhaps Voldemort  _ could  _ touch him now.

He blinked. This man-- this monster-- wanted him dead. 

Before Voldemort could speak a word, a spell left Harry’s mouth, consequences be damned. 

“ _ Confingo _ !”

Flames burst from his wand and a loud, booming sound echoed through the graveyard. Harry’s eyes had clamped shut and the heat, formerly lukewarm due to the setting sun, exploded around him. 

_ It was so, so hot-- _

There was a stirring, an audible panic in the background from whom Harry could only assume were the Death Eaters.  The body that had been in front of him was absent now. He could feel that it had moved, either from the absence of the gaze staring down at him or the man’s energy itself. 

“Don’t touch him, he is  _ mine--” _

Harry saw a flash of green light from under his eyelids, and found himself rolling to the side out of instinct. The words only registered in his mind after his body had moved.

“ _ Avada Kedavra-- _ ”

It seemed to echo in slow motion. When Harry opened his eyes, the marble of the grave he had previously been intimate with appeared before him. 

Another curse flew through the air, but this time, he saw it coming, and dodged behind the headstone. He stood quickly and leaned against it, taking a deep breath. 

Voldemort’s laugh, high and cold, cackled around the corner, followed by the Death Eaters. “Harry, Harry, Harry. Do you think you can hide from me? Truly? This is not one of your muggle’s games. Do you tire of our duel already? I can end it at a moment’s notice.” The voice neared, closer and closer. Harry could now hear the breaths Voldemort took in between his sentences, the soft  _ hiss _ of his s’s, so very animalistic, yet elegant all the same. 

“I would tell you that you won’t feel a thing, but I would not know. Death and I… have never been intimate.”

He had a crazy idea. It was absolutely insane, but… hadn’t it been before?

He knew the spell and had seen it done, yet had never done it before, but what was stopping him now? The thought and intent passed through his mind as quickly as his diaphragm stirred and his throat wrenched. He didn’t have time to speak the word, but  _ sonorous  _ echoed loudly within his mind-- not nearly as loud as the shriek that broke from his mouth. 

It echoed like a banshee’s wail, and the sound of birds ejecting themselves from the trees stood as its ambiance. Silence followed.

Harry took a deep breath, hand gripping the headstone tightly, but found he kept sucking in and the dryness of the air caused him to break out coughing.

There was a murmuring from behind him, multiple voices.

His hands started shaking as nothing seemed to happen.

The possibility that they were too far from Hogwarts’ grounds occurred to him. With his pathetically-attempted wordless sonorous, his call most likely hadn’t reached its intended recipient. They could have been kilometers away-- maybe even in an entirely different region, or, dare he think it, country.

Maybe he, the Boy Who Lived, ever close to death, would finally meet it today. Harry’s nose twitched. If that was so, he didn’t want to go down without a fight. Except a logical part of him, or perhaps the idealistic part, whispered that  _ somebody  _ should be informed of Voldemort’s return. Cassius? Good as a traitor. Krum? The same, except… Harry tried to peek around the grave to see where Krum had been sitting on the ground, but all that met his vision was downtrodden grass.

Where  _ was _ Krum? His first thought jumped to the idea that he joined the circle while no one was watching but… Voldemort did not call him out. 

“I don’t know what you are trying to do, Harry--” a whisper startled him--  “And I must admit to your creative use of the element of surprise, but it is entirely pointless if you do not utilize it.”

Harry’s chest ached at how similar that statement sounded to something Tom would have said, but dismissed it as folly-- that  _ was _ Tom. It was still so difficult to wrap his mind around it.

Harry clenched his wand, steeling himself. There was no more hiding. He stepped around the grave with his wand aimed and a spell on the tip of his tongue. 

Voldemort was just as ready for him--

Except it seemed as though it wasn’t  _ him _ he should have been ready for.

“ _ Exp-- _

“ _ Av-- _ ”

“ _ Reducto-- _ ”

Harry jumped back as the grave that had been towering next to him wobbled, tearing from the ground and falling at an unnatural diagonal-- straight toward Voldemort. The man retreated, the ground under his feet a smoky black as he seemed to travel on air backward. He turned his head to look toward his circle.

“ _ I told you he was mine--” _

Standing with their wand out was not a Death Eater, however. 

Cassius Warrington, scuffled and pink in the face, stood defiantly outside of the circle. 

Voldemort didn’t hesitate, it seemed.

“Avad--” 

“Expelliarmus!” shouted Harry.

A yew wand ripped from its master’s grasp and fell to the ground, meters away. A quick wave of Voldemort’s hand and the wand was back within his grasp. 

The Death Eaters beside Cassius were stirring, drawing their wands. Two wands had pointed themselves at his throat and his own wand had been knocked out of his hand while Voldemort had been retrieving his own wand back. Horror dawned upon his face.

Harry’s eyes widened and met Cassius’. Cassius’ gaze, those blue eyes, were quivering with the realisation of what he had just done-- and what he had failed at. Harry couldn’t move, couldn’t tear his eyes away, and simultaneously felt sick to his stomach at the thought of him ever doubting the older boy. But now, it was too late.

“Cassius, Cassius… that was not a wise choice.”

Voldemort had straightened himself out, but was visibly irritated. His attention was turned on Cassius, and Harry looked around the graveyard trying to find  _ something  _  that might be useful to him--  _ where was that goddamn cup?  _ He searched the rows of graves, trying to find where the cup had been last, but either they all looked the same and he had lost his way, or it had disappeared. 

His hand gripped his wand tightly and he raised it ever so slightly. “ _ Accio cup-- _ ”

There was a whoosh through the air, a rustling through the grass, and a sound similar to thunder breaking the sky. A shadow had passed over the cemetery and Harry looked around wildly until he saw the source of the sound. 

As the cup flew through the air, Krum was running after it. Never had Harry ever seen such an…  _ alive _ expression on his face, in contrast to the dead fish he had appeared as earlier in the graveyard.

Krum’s strides were long to match his legs and he was currently outrunning the cup. He slowed down to withdraw his wand and pointed it vaguely behind him, mouth moving to utter some incantation Harry couldn’t quite make out. He had just barely passed Harry and Tom Riddle’s grave before the cup was now flying beside him, following the path of his wand in the air. Krum turned his head slightly and made eye contact with Harry, jerking his chin and looking past the younger boy.

_ What-- _

Another boom of thunder echoed across the graveyard, except it seemed closer than ever before, almost as if it was right next to Harry’s eardrums. He heard another boom, but it was softer this time and he felt something deathly cold crash into him, taking the breath out of him--

He fell to the ground in a tangle of his own limbs. Looking up, he saw the dark legs of a skeletally thin creature. He blinked in surprise, before clambering to his feet, using the creature as a support.

A sound like whooshing air sounded somewhere in the background, but all Harry could focus on was slinging a leg over Tenebrus and desperately clinging to his neck.

_ “A thestral?! _ ” a voice, far-removed yelled.

Harry buried his face against the leathery skin, taking a deep breath, before closing his eyes, feeling the rhythmic flapping of Tenebrus’ wings launch them into the air at a speed that, if his eyes had been open, might have blurred his vision and dizzied his brain. With his eyes closed, however, the sensation was almost ethereal, as if he was now floating on a cloud beyond the earth and all it’s trivial conflicts and dangers.

They flew and they flew. 

Harry’s hands could not stop shaking, even as Tenebrus cooed and lured him into a deep, deep sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? Theories? I'd love to know what you think. Remember to comment and leave kudos <3 Until next time.  
> Follow me on tumblr at https://thelastnero.tumblr.com/ . I'll be trying to post updates on my chapter progress from now on, as well.  
> Also! That quote I included is from the new song Sorry by Halsey and I just gotta say, I'm kind of obsessed atm. Y'all should check it out. It's not important or anything, it's just a nice song <3


	18. Unforgivable

“To live is to suffer, to survive is to find some meaning in the suffering.”

-Friedrich Nietzsche

 

Harry did not dream as Tenebrus brought him back to Hogwarts. He did not dream as Tenebrus landed at the entrance of the maze and and everyone in the world fussed over him. He did not dream as he was brought to the medical wing, and Karkaroff was arrested, and he laid in between two older boys sitting on their beds, engaged in tense discussion. He did not dream as he slept in his own bed, and the Madam tended to him, and his Godfather worried over him, and Tenebrus had found his way into the castle through an open window, and the entire world tried to get into the medical wing to get a glimpse of the Triwizard Champion, and the victim of a crime against wizarding-kind, and the Boy Who Lived. Whatever kindness the universe had neglected to bring him in his life before, it was granting him now.

It was serene, but it did not last nearly as long as he would have liked. It could have lasted forever, and he would never have woken, and it would have been fine. But he had to wake up eventually. He woke.

His eyes remained shut, but he was now aware of his surroundings. The adamant tone of Madam Pomfrey-- the sarcastic remarks of Sirius-- certain, yet uncertain light whispers of the same voice that had urged Harry to trust him-- a gruff voice with a thickly layered accent that, too, was trying to remain hushed, yet as Harry gained consciousness, could now make out the words being spoken.

“--will happen now?”

“Von’t your ministry handle it?”

“They didn’t do a very good job of it last time, but we have a new Minister now-- who knows what Crouch will do.”

Harry’s eyelids fluttered. Crouch Junior’s crazed expression in the graveyard flashed across his vision, gone in a millisecond.

Cassius continued. “I don’t think Dumbledore likes Crouch, but as seen from the Tournament, they’ll work together.”

“Hmph.”

Cassius and Krum stopped whispering to each other as an argument across the room exploded.

“The school year is over-- if all he needs is bedrest, he can come home--”

“Mr. Black, the boy should remain here for at least another twenty-four hours before being discharged. His physical wounds may have been healed, but the diagnostic spells show nerve damage in patterns only seen in victims of the Cruciatus curse--”

“Then shouldn’t he be kept up and not left to sleep? What if he never wakes up?” 

“The other two boys gave their accounts of what occurred. He did not lost consciousness due to the curse, but most likely fell asleep due to sheer exhaustion and stress--”

Krum murmured softly. “How long do they intend to argue?”

There was a shifting somewhere, as if someone was changing positions on their bed.

“How am I supposed to know? Black, though--” Cassius paused.

“...It is strange seeing him in person vhen you have only seen him in vanted posters before, is it not?”

“Yeah…”

Harry could still hear Sirius and Pomfrey avidly debating in the background, but tuned it out as a silence spread between Krum and Cassius.

He could have stuck his fingers in the air, grasped the tension, and rubbed it between his fingers, it was so palpable.

“Vhat you did vas very brave.”

“I… not really. It was a coward’s move. What you did, given what you’ve been through, was brave.”

“I could say the same to you.”

There was another silence.

“... I’m probably dead now, anyway,” said Cassius.

“You seem to have an unhealthy fixation on death.”

Cassius snorted. “I’m sorry, mate, but you don’t even know me.” 

“Vell. That may be true, but. Correct me if I am not right, but your house seems to typically place an added value in staying alive, yes? Yet you seem to constantly put yourself in positions vhere staying alive proves very difficult.”

Harry didn’t know why, but his current position lying down was becoming more and more uncomfortable as time went on.

There was an audible sigh. “Not normally. I just… I don’t know. I don’t have any excuses for my actions. Shit just happens.”

Harry breathed deeply through his nose and felt something soft brush against his hand dangling out of the bed. He blinked his eyes lazily and glanced over his shoulder.

There Tenebrus stood, somehow in the Medical Wing, nudging at Harry. Harry took another deep breath and shut his eyes once more as Tenebrus leaned over and nuzzled him.

“It sounds like you are discounting what you did.”

He had the urge to just grab the thestral and snuggle deeper into its warmth, but he still wanted to hear the rest of the conversation.

“I’m not a great person, okay?” Cassius’ voice raised slightly, before he lowered his tone back to a whisper. “A lot of stuff just happens to me that I can’t control and I’m fucking sick of it--”

Harry shifted ever so slightly toward Tenebrus, his bed creaking softly. Cassius stopped speaking. 

Well, Harry supposed he couldn’t pretend to be asleep any longer. He opened his eyes, and caught Krum and Cassius exchanging looks, before they turned slightly toward him.

“You alright?” asked Cassius. “You look like you’ve been to the land of the dead and back.”

Krum looked pointedly at Cassius who caught the look and shrugged, rolling his eyes. 

“I’m alive,” Harry muttered.

Both Tenebrus and Cassius snorted. Harry snickered and he and Krum both turned toward Cassius with an amused look, but Cassius seemed completely unaware.

The question of whether Cassius could see Tenebrus or not arose within Harry’s mind. He knew for certain Krum had to be able to see thestrals, but Cassius?

He asked a different question instead, unsure of how to phrase it. “How did you two get back?”

“Mr. Quidditch Star here tackled me with the portkey. Bad habit of his, I’m guessing-- all the  _ tackling _ ,” Cassius quipped. 

“The first time vas not my fault,” said Krum, glaring at Cassius.

Cassius breathed a quiet laugh. “I know, I know, I’m just messing with you. You don’t need to take everything so seriously.”

“The first time?” Harry raised an eyebrow groggily, and reached up to rub the sleep out of his eyes.

“When he was under the Imperius in the maze.” Cassius narrowed his eyes, glancing toward Krum.

“It vas not just in the maze. I… do not know how long I vas under the curse.” Krum looked far-off through the window. “It blurs your perception of time.”

That… made sense.

“It might be a good idea to tell Hermione all that.”

Krum looked sullenly at the ground.

Cassius butt in. “The whole school knows what happened. You know. You-Know-Who being back, what happened in the graveyard, Barty Crouch Junior being alive, all the death eaters-- We told Dumbledore everything, Dumbledore made an announcement. People are freaking out, people are angry-- everything you’d expect, really.”

“My headmaster has been arrested, as have many of the men present in the graveyard.”

Instantly, Lucius Malfoy came to mind. However, another question plagued him. “What about Crouch Senio--”

“Harry! You’re up!”

He was interrupted by the jovial call of the man he could immediately discern as his Godfather, bounding over with excitement in his eyes. If he had been in his dog form, no doubt he’d have been wagging his tail.

Harry chuckled. “Hey Siri.”

“See, Poppy? He’s fine to go now.”   
Said woman approached the bed slowly with her skepticism painfully apparent. “Mr. Black--”

“Do you think he’d rather be here, in the medical wing, or in the comfort of his home? Which do you think he’d recover quicker in?”

Madam Pomfrey didn’t answer that question, simply allowing Harry to be released without any further arguments. Tenebrus left out the window reluctantly only after receiving some pats from Harry, much to Pomfrey’s disapproval. 

At times like this, Harry was grateful for Sirius’ tenacity, but also worried about how it might impede his understanding of the situation. With a backwards glance to Krum and Cassius, he thought that, maybe, he’d send one of them a letter that week.

But first, he would do as Madam Pomfrey had duly suggested and rest in the comfort of his own bed at Grimmauld Place.

 

* * *

 

Under the dimmed lights of his windowless room, with no beating sterility or smell of cleaning, but rather something old and alluring that drew him toward the idea of sleep, his mind awakened. 

Earlier, perhaps, he had been too exhausted to think. Now, as he began to sleep once more, his mind began to race, seemingly to make up for lost time.

It bothered him, the time he had been out. How long had it been? How much did he miss? What had he missed? He knew a mere fragment of the story, a small piece of a larger map that would guide him forward in the aftermath of Voldemort’s resurrection, but he knew he  _ needed _ the rest of the map. 

He tossed and turned, unable to settle. He felt as though he was being watched, that he was somehow unsafe despite all reason telling him otherwise. Grimmauld Place was under the fidelius. Sirius was there. Dumbledore knew he and Sirius were there. Nothing could or would happen. 

But what if...?

He glanced at his bedside table. No clock lied within reach, only a glass of water and his glasses folded neatly toward the edge. He could have definitely gone for some Dreamless Sleep, but Pomfrey had said he’d been on it for “a good while” and it had begun to lose its effectiveness, so she didn’t send him off with any.

That had to mean he’d been there awhile, didn’t it? Maybe he was overthinking it.

He clenched his eyes shut, willing himself to calm his racing mind and just  _ cease to think. _ Sleep seemed the nearest solution.

Harry breathed deeply through his nose, expelling his breath through his mouth slowly.

He repeated the motion until his body relaxed and his muscles soothed and untensed, pressing against the fine cotton of his sheets.

Dark light danced across his closed lids.

A wave of warmth brushed over him, as if sunlight was peeking through an uncurtained window to heat his body, yet he knew the room was insular, with no windows, lest he be able to peek through the shared walls into the next house over on Grimmauld. It was pleasant, nonetheless, and in his attempt to avoid the thought, he banished anything that might have arisen, significant or not.

The warmth drew him into a heady state of consciousness, not quite awake, but not quite asleep. Colors danced below his vision and above his subconscious all at the same time, so as he could not have distinguished between the two had they presented themselves before him.

In the dead silence of the room, far removed from the drawing room’s crackle of fire or Hogwarts’ chaos or London’s rambunction, his own breath seemed to be amplified, a steady rhythm that nearly hypnotised him. It was peaceful, but pulled at Harry’s last sense of right and wrong within his mind that he tried so desperately to ignore in the pursuit of  _ sleep.  _

Yet something lingered on the edge of his perception, a mere wisp of a whisper that he couldn’t quite hear, but he could  _ feel _ , as if it touched his heart and pulled it toward his chest, perhaps up toward his throat, to block his breath and prevent him from drawing in another.

The warmth present before moved over his body and grazed his cheeks, bringing a blush to the surface of his skin like a fever, yet as he drew in another breath, he felt an immediate cold in retaliation. Something in him snapped, and the lure of the warmth became all too endearing to him at that moment. He held his breath and the warmth grew and sparked along his skin, beating like sunlight across the bare flesh of his face, neck and chest, anything uncovered by clothing or quilt.

When he began to turn blue in the face, he ripped the quilt off him and took in a deep breath, an immediate chill wracking him. He tore off his pants and squirmed against his sheets feverishly, until the familiar heat returned. With his cheek flush against his bed, no longer resting upon his pillow, he turned onto his stomach as if to fully be absorbed into it.

For some reason, the heat was shifting now, beginning to pool somewhere he hadn’t been expecting-- or, rather,  _ wouldn’t have _ expected, had he been thinking at all to begin with. 

He was painfully hard with no apparent cause.

His hips begin moving on their own accord, utterly shameless, sliding against his sheets, rutting against his mattress in a desperate race to release. The heat became absolutely unbearable, and his skin itched, and he just had to come--

Red eyes flashed across his vision.

Suddenly, his underwear was wet, and the fever receded, and clarity came back to Harry, accompanied by an all-encompassing horror. He gasped for breath, and tears licked the corners of his eyes as he tried to process what had just happened.

He did not just--

His breath turned shaky. Not  _ again.  _

His life was so twisted, it made him sick to his stomach. He smothered his sobs into his bed as he cried, as if it would somehow drown out the noise or suffocate him, so that he would never have to have such a thing happen again. His chest burned as though the locket around his neck was seeking to bore itself through his flesh.

The sound of someone clearing their throat made his heart nearly leap out of his own, pumping hard, his hands shaking as he turned and rolled into the quilt on his bed-- h _ e could have sworn he had locked the door _ \--

His eyes looked around frantically, until they landed upon the intruder.

Or, perhaps, given their circumstances,  _ Harry _ was the intruder.

It seemed as though Regulus Black had returned to his portrait just to catch Harry in his… rather precarious predicament. A bewildered expression tainted his face, the most emotion Harry had ever seen on him. He seemed frozen, a blush flushing his painted cheeks.

Their eyes met, and the familiar deep brown of Regulus’ eyes only gave him flashbacks to Riddle. He didn’t say a word as Harry scrambled to a sitting position, covering himself with the quilt on his bed. 

Eventually, Regulus cleared his throat, turning his head to give Harry a side-eye, looking at him only indirectly.

“I can return later, if you are… occupied.”

Harry wiped away the trails of tears that had lined his cheeks, taking a deep breath. “I’m fine. Did you want something?”

Regulus looked like he was about to say something snide, his lips curling, but he stopped himself. He pursed his lips before speaking once more. “I heard my brother talking about what happened with that lover of his in the drawing room. The Dark Lord has returned.”

It wasn’t a question. Harry frowned in confusion as to who Regulus was talking about, but he didn’t mention it, focusing on the subject at hand.

“Happy about that, are you? You were a Death Eater, right?”

Regulus gave a contemptuous scoff. “I was.” His gaze flickered away from Harry to look off into the distance, scanning the walls of his room, as if expecting to see something that wasn’t there.

Harry blinked and waited for Regulus to say more.

Only silence followed. Regulus hadn’t moved nor said a word, only continuing to look wistfully around the room. 

Harry sighed. As he was about to say something, however, Regulus spoke abruptly.

“That locket you wear.”

The subject change caught Harry off guard, and he instantly looked down to his chest where the locket dangled. He didn’t even think about it anymore, keeping it on almost constantly. Normally, it was slipped under his shirt.

“Ah. It was yours, wasn’t it--”

“It wasn’t  _ mine-- _ ” Regulus nearly spat, as if offended by the mere notion, turning to look at Harry head on now. Harry flinched backward at the look in his eyes.

Regulus was staring at the locket, nearly glaring at it. 

He humphed, before looking back up at Harry with a hint of amusement. The glint in his eyes was malicious, yes, but not dangerous. Harry might have equated it to the smug looks Malfoy might have given him back at Hogwarts.

“It used to belong to… the  _ Dark Lord. _ ”

Harry went wide-eyed, and reached toward the locket, but froze.

No. It couldn’t have. Regulus was just provoking him.

Except it made too much sense. Or was everything that happened simply a coincidence? The inconsistencies, the times he thought the Tom Riddle in his head was playing dumb about things that Harry  _ knew _ the diary knew-- 

But if it wasn’t the diary to begin with?

Did that mean Riddle--  _ Voldemort-- _ had made another artifact like the diary? Another memory?

“You know what it is, don’t you?”

Harry turned his eyes back to Regulus, who was looking him up and down appraisingly. He seemed almost surprised-- no, perplexed. 

“I told Kreacher to destroy it, after retrieving it but... I’m guessing he was unsuccessful. Pity, considering I died for it.” His tone was bitter.

Something wasn’t adding up. “W-why, though? Why would you die for it-- to destroy something of Voldemort’s?” His cheeks flushed.

“Listen. I was there. I saw what went on behind the scenes. It was so much…  _ worse  _ than anyone on the outside could have ever realised. Yeah, I agreed with the ideology he spewed to the masses, but did he actually believe it? I wasn't even able to tell by the end of it. When one’s words are laced with honey no matter the subject, it’s hard to determine what is persuasion meant for you, and what is persuasion meant for  _ them _ . 

“Something was going on  _ beyond _ that. All I know is there was a better way of doing what he was trying to accomplish.” Harry frowned. “He rounded corners, he took unnecessary,  _ revolting  _ measures-- He wasn’t trying to create a pureblood society, that was for certain. I was the only one to realise what he was truly aiming for. I think he realised that I knew too. I had to act quickly, after discovering his secrets.”

Something told Harry this was somehow bigger than he might have ever imagined. He stayed completely silent, enraptured by Regulus’ words.

“One of the Dark Lord’s greatest goals was immortality. To live forever. And he found a way of doing so, a perverse violation of magic itself.”

Harry’s heart hammered inside his chest. He was interested in hearing more, but something Regulus said caught his attention in particular.  _ One  _ of his greatest goals? Implying there was something else, beyond eliminating muggles and muggleborns and becoming immortal? He knew if he derailed the topic now, however, he might not hear the rest of what Regulus had to say about his own experiences however.

He swallowed hard before speaking. “It had something to do with the locket and the diary, didn’t it?”

Regulus narrowed his eyes. “The locket, yes, but what’s this about a diary?” His voice raised.

“He put his memory inside a diary. Gave the diary to Lucius Malfoy who then sent it off into Hogwarts. Someone found it, and through the diary he was able to possess them to try to open the Chamber of Secrets. I… only barely defeated his illusion.” 

Regulus was frowning, deep creases on his pale forehead. His lips were moving, but no utterance rang out. 

“...should be impossible…. Potter?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you destroy this diary?”

Harry pursed his lips. “I wasn’t able to. Hell, I tried to slash it open with Gryffindor’s own sword, but it just bounced off.”

Regulus began sighed and began paced within the frame of his portrait.

“It’s in my trunk if you want to see it.”   
Regulus responded instantly. “Please.”

The word sounded strange coming from him, but Harry complied nonetheless. The diary was where he had last left it, surprisingly or unsurprisingly enough. Regulus leaned forward, squinting at the book as Harry held it up to the portrait.

“It’s just a normal diary otherwise, but when you write in it, Riddle responds back.”

“Riddle?” Regulus raised an eyebrow.

“Ah-- Tom Riddle. That was Voldemort’s name before he was… well, Voldemort.”

Regulus frowned. “I see. I recommend you keep that somewhere safe. That trunk isn’t going to cut it. I would also put the locket somewhere too, separate. Do not keep them together.”

Harry narrowed his eyes skeptically. 

It felt like there was something Regulus wasn’t telling him. 

“So… did he put a memory in the locket, too? Why would he need multiple memories?” he questioned. “The diary had said Rid- Voldemort had put his memory in the diary so he could one day return to open the Chamber of Secrets. What purpose did the locket serve, then? Since  _ you _ were the one who had it.”

“Not  _ originally _ \--” Regulus seethed, glaring at Harry. “I had deduced the Dark Lord’s secret months into my service as a Death Eater. Few people in general knew about Horcruxes, but you’ll find the Black family library is quite… expansive. He dropped hints of how he had attained his immortality, like the proud, egotistical maniac he was. No one would ever be able to guess what he’d done, he thought. Idiotic.”

“Hold on… what  _ is _ a Horcrux?”

Regulus blinked in surprise. “You don’t know?”

“Should I?”

The older boy hmphed. “Your elders probably wouldn’t want you to know, but that’s reason enough to find out, isn’t it? Voldemort used a Horcrux to ensure his immortality-- A Horcrux is a vessel for the soul after it has been split. One half stays within the human host, the other half attaches itself to the object focused on by the wizard or witch. It acts as an anchor to the mortal plane-- if the human host body is compromised and killed, the person may return to their Horcrux. They will, essentially, never die.”

Harry shivered.

“The only known way to split one’s soul, of course, is cold-blooded murder. But that isn’t enough itself to bind the soul piece to the mortal plane, no. There are plenty of murders everyday, but to make a Horcrux is an utterly reprehensible act-- unforgivable. It would make the average practitioner of the dark arts vomit just to think of it.

“Tell me, Harry, what is the most selfish thing one person can do?” 

His gut reaction was to say murder itself, but somehow that didn’t seem right. Instantly, his mind was drawn back to the graveyard-- the cruciatus, in particular. To subject someone to a life of torture might as well have been worse than death, wouldn’t it? But still-- that seemed too small, on the grander scheme of things. What  _ was _ truly unforgivable?

Deception? Delusion? Mind-control? What was the difference?

“To not allow anyone a way out. Complete disregard for one’s will. Utter domination. A life of torture, only to be superseded by death itself.”

Harry wasn’t particularly religious, at least formally, but the question of what exactly death might entail had plagued his thoughts a few dark moments in his life. The minutes that felt like hours within the graveyard-- when he had been fully prepared to die, even though he had no idea what that might be like, if it would be better, or worse than his current situation--

Could death supersede a life of agony?

“Imagine if one was never able to find peace-- to escape the tortures of mundane life, but never to reach the other side. Whenever you might come near it, it would simply… slip… through... your… fingers. To be stuck between for an eternity, never to reach a reprieve.”

“What might the person who inflicts such a thing feel? Despair or guilt, perhaps?”

Regulus was asking questions Harry couldn’t begin to fathom answering, but at that point, he didn’t think Regulus was expecting an answer to begin with.

“To create a Horcrux, you must split your soul, yes. But it has always been understood souls are definite, not infinite-- that wizards reincarnate and our souls are recycled through the ages. One cannot  _ create  _ a new soul, you must take one from the abyss that is the realm of the dead at peace, a soul who has moved on from its old lives, and give it a new life, as is normal in birth and rebirth. 

“Theoretically, Horcruxes should be impossible, yet they are. How is that so?”

Regulus looked searchingly toward Harry.

The younger boy looked down, trying to think.

If souls persisted after death, then they couldn’t be destroyed. Nor could they be created, as was the law of conservation. Yet a Horcrux could somehow emulate a new soul, creating an anchor for the original soul, while it could not  _ create  _ a new soul altogether.

Something in what Regulus had said however struck him. Souls at peace. But of those still attached to their old lives? Those souls who might remain as ghosts?

“A Horcrux prevents the person killed from moving on-- it binds them to earth. Forces them to be a ghost.”

Moaning Myrtle’s ghastly image appeared in his mind, as unpleasant and as unwanted as her appearance in the physical realm tended to be.

“And they will be a ghost for the rest of their unlife. Those in between, still trying to move on from their old life, may not be pulled back into a new life and may not be reborn. For all intents and purposes… their soul is lacking in both life and death. They will never see the escape that is death, to be tormented by the living and the life they could have lived for the rest of eternity. Some dark creatures experience a similar phenomena, but the difference between them and those victims of Horcrux creation is that they  _ choose that life.  _ To deprive a person of a means of escape, of morality in order to assure one’s own immortality… is unforgivable, is it not?” 

If Tom Riddle had used her death to make a horcrux while he was at Hogwarts, at the tender age of sixteen… maybe it was no wonder that she was so miserable. 

Regulus had a glazed look in his eyes, and Harry almost didn’t want to respond. Yet he found he had to confirm what he had just been told.

“So. In order to create a Horcrux, it goes like this: You kill someone, bind their soul as it attempts to reach whatever afterlife that might exist, and take its place on earth, putting in your own soul fragment?”

“Essentially.”

Harry’s heart fell heavy in chest. “And Voldemort made two of them?”

“That’s just the thing, Potter. No one has ever made more than  _ one _ . At this time… it would be impossible to determine just how  _ many _ he  _ has _ made.”

Something stirred uneasily within Harry. 

“And in order to kill Voldemort… all his Horcruxes must be destroyed, as well?”

“Theoretically.” Regulus frowned, a deep crease in his forehead. “Assuming that would kill him. His soul fragments would most likely be lodged in between life and death, similar to ghosts, since they do not have a proper place. Given that they are weakened versions of a true soul, smaller than normal, the original person murdered would most likely be able to move on. But that’s just a theory.”

“He’d… get a taste of his own medicine.” For some reason, it hurt to say. To be perfectly honest, this whole conversation was beginning to make Harry feel ill and somewhat dizzy.

“Yes.”

“Is there… no other way?”

Regulus looked curiously at Harry, his dark eyes seemingly looking into his eyes at his own soul. “That is an odd question. I don’t know. Maybe, if there was a way to reassemble to soul and call back the fragments-- but how one would do so, I have no idea. I have no reservations about the fact that anything is possible with magic, as long as the proper power of intent is behind it. But such a thing would not occur due to a mere whim. It would be no  _ Wingardium Leviosa _ \--” he drolled, voice returning to the same condescending tone he had at the beginning of their conversation.

“Most wizards will live their entire life without knowing what a Horcrux even is. The few that have made them are most likely undocumented. One would not want their secret to get out. Not only would it ostracize them, but informs others of their weakness. One might try to destroy their Horcrux even if they had no previous quarrel with the wizard, just for justice’s sake. My point is that many of the questions you have will remain unanswered. I do not know as much as I care to about Horcruxes, while simultaneously knowing more than I would have ever wished.” He sneered at that last remark.

A sinking despair settled in Harry’s stomach. Of all the questions he had… he didn’t even know if he wanted them answered, himself. 

He looked at the locket around his neck, and somehow the unspoken power contained within throbbed louder than ever. Sitting up at the edge of the bed, Harry reached behind his neck and undid the clasp with shaking fingers. 

The locket fell into his blanket covered lap, the gold glinting almost mockingly at him, the murky abyss of the molten gold and emerald within threatening to pull him deeper. He clenched the artifact in his hand tightly.

Where, oh where, might one hide such a dark thing? Within his thoughts or his dreams? Or perhaps far, far away, out of the world’s clutches and his own, so he might never have to look at the thing ever again, or let himself be alone with something so heinous, so unspeakable, and so unforgivable?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Maurey for betaing <3 Check out their stuff.  
> My tumblr, as always, is at [ thelastnero ](https://thelastnero.tumblr.com)  
> I've been busy this week and the last o/ Finished a [ smutty oneshot ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13685775), a [ darker, more tragic mind-fuck ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13727871), and a[ new on-going poetry series of fairytales ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13740741) . Please check them out <3


End file.
